Choices
by GStales
Summary: Kitty finds herself pregnant after the brutal rape by the Dog Soldiers.
1. Chapter 1

**Choices**

Gunsmoke fan-fiction

Gstales

_The author borrows plot and characters from the classic TV and radio drama Gunsmoke. It was conceived with no intent for profit and purely for my own amusement. _

(1)

Beads of cold perspiration bubbled against her forehead. "You're wrong Bessie. It's impossible." Her feet felt like lead. She stumbled to the elaborately carved parlor chair, which sat in a corner by the window looking out to Front Street. Gracelessly, she lowered her body to the cushioned frame. "No." the soundless word formed on her lips.

Bessie Roniger turned her back to Kitty Russell; she hadn't intended to upset her friend so. Running a stout hand across her face she pushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Moving to the side table she poured two glasses of brandy. As a rule, the farm woman wasn't a drinker, but on this morning she felt a strong need for a bracer. Turning back to Kitty she walked the short distance to the window and handed her the drink.

"The symptoms Kitty … believe me I know them well, it all adds up. You're in the family way."

This time the word was audible, and said with force as if in doing so she could scare away the truth of Bessie's diagnosis. "No … no."

Bessie took hold of the matching chair and placed it in front of the saloon woman. She sat down and took Kitty's trembling hands within her own. There was a hint of a smile in her voice, "It's not the end of the world you know."

Kitty's head had dropped, and her shoulders sagged. Dark splotches were forming on the skirt of her blue sateen dress from the tears that slipped in twin streams down her face to fall on the fabric below. "You … you don't understand…"

"I think I do, you're nearing forty, not married and you believe your livelihood depends on face and figure - the sum of which doesn't add up to the end of the world." Bessie gave the hands in hers a shake, "There is a man who loves you with all his heart, a townfull of folks who respect you not only for what you've accomplished but for the good and kind deeds you've done along the way. You have friends who will support you in anyway we can. Kitty, Kitty a baby is a blessing, a gift from God."

"Not this baby …"

The tone of Mrs. Roniger's voice was one she might have used for her ten year old daughter, "I won't stand for you talking like that, I know you're a little emotional right now, but once you've talked this over with Matt, I'm sure he will agree with me, after all you've been through, this is a gift for the two of you." She dropped one of Kitty's hands to lift her own to the tormented face of her friend, "Kitty, you're going to be a mother! You and Matt are going to have a child!"

As one fighting against a great pain, she closed her eyes tightly. Her lower lip was beginning to bleed from where she was biting it. She raised her head to meet Bessie's eyes, "It isn't … it isn't Matt's child."

Bessie stared at Kitty in stunned silence until the terrible truth hit home, "Dear Lord … my dear Lord … the dog soldiers, Kitty …"

"Matt and I haven't been together … not since …Bessie I couldn't, every time he came near I pushed him away … after what they'd done … I didn't know how he could still want me."

"Three months … you haven't had your … time of the month since? You and Matt haven't … but before that … Kitty it could have happened before …"

She shook her head, "I always took precautions to guard against an unwanted situation. Beside's Matt had been tracking the Dog Soldiers for weeks, we hardly had time for a glass of beer together and a few moments alone, before he was back on Jude Bonner's trail." The saying of the man's name brought back the violent images. She felt her early morning coffee, mixed with the glass of brandy churning in her belly. A wave of nausea swept over her and she dashed for the chamber pot.

Bessie waited for the retching to end, she moistened a hand towel and applied it to Kitty's forehead while leading her to the bed. "Lie down." She ordered as she repositioned the cloth. "I'm going to get Doc. Before we go jumping to wild conclusions … we should know what we're dealing with. Why … I may be all wrong… "

"Yes … get Doc…" the words were said with the resignation of one who sees no way out of an ultimate fate. She remained where she was until the door clicked shut and Bessie's footsteps could be heard walking down the hallway and then panic and fight took over. It took only seconds for her to spring back to her feet and fly to the door. She pulled it open and called from the balcony, "Wait, Bessie, come back."

Mrs. Roniger looked up from the bottom step. She was always a bit uncomfortable in the saloon and to have attention called to her presence there made her all the more embarrassed. A few heads turned as she hefted her ample body back up the stairs.

Kitty was waiting at the open door of her room. Neither woman spoke until they were both back inside. "What is it?" Bessie questioned.

"I don't want Doc to know. I don't want any one to know, not until I'm sure."

"Kitty you can't be sure unless Doc examines you. The more I think about this the more convinced I am that we're just worrying over nothing. I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation for your symptoms."

Kitty's face still held an unhealthy tint highlighted by red-rimmed eyes. "I'm sure there is too, but until I know for certain I'm not going to worry anyone else."

Bessie raised an eyebrow and gave her friend a wary look, "What have you got in mind?"

Like an animal caught in a hunter's trap, Kitty Russell's first instinct was to escape, "I'm taking the early east bound train in the morning."

"To where?"

"I'm not sure – someplace where I can get the answers to my questions… someplace where I can come to grips with what's happened, someplace where I can make the choices I need to make."

Bessie's voice was plaintive; "You don't have to go through this alone … not when there are people who care about you."

"Yes, yes I do, don't you see, it wouldn't be fair to any of them to see this through … and you've got to promise me you'll keep this between the two of us."

Backing away and shaking her head Bessie said, "I don't know Kitty…"

"I want your word, I'm counting on you." Kitty's stance became firmer and her eyes took on a hard edge.

Still Bessie hesitated, "Alright … I don't like it, but you have my word."

Kitty's lips turned up in imitation of a smile, "Go finish your shopping, your husband will wonder what's become of you."

"This isn't right …"

"No," Kitty agreed, "it isn't right, but I'm going to set about making it right. Good bye Bessie, thank you for being my friend."

Alone again Kitty returned to the parlor chair, the view looked down on Front Street. Holiday wreaths still hung from the lamp posts. She could see Bessie hurrying down the icy boardwalk to the General Store, where their farm wagon and her husband waited. Kitty picked up the bottle of the homemade tonic Bessie had dropped off that morning thinking it might be `just the ticket' to perk Kitty up. She opened the bottle and took a whiff of the contents. With a sigh she replace the lid, as she mentally replayed her symptoms. Denial can be a strong ally until it turns on you. The missed periods, mood swings, tender breasts, these things she'd ignored were now coming into a clearer perspective, magnified by Bessie Roniger's insightful evaluation of her condition. How could she have looked past it? Without thinking she placed a hand on the swell of her stomach. Fate was a cruel enemy.

Kitty Russell had always been very careful. Leading the kind of lifestyle she had, she'd been privy to the various ways to guard against an unwanted pregnancy. She faithfully practiced them. It was something she and Dillon had discussed early in their relationship. He had told her frankly there was no room in his life for a family not while he wore a badge. She had agreed, she had no wish to be a mother, she enjoyed her freedom too much, and any time spent amid Bessie's wild progeny confirmed that belief. There had been no opportunity for practicing birth control while being raped by Jude Bonner's Dog Soldiers. She shook her head feeling a tinge of pity for the child conceived by such a union. How could there be any kind of life and hope for a baby fathered by evil?

Methodically she pulled her carpetbags and trunk from the storage closet, and began packing them with her belongings, leaving behind all but one of her elegant evening gowns. She had no idea how long she'd be gone and realistically she wondered if she really would be coming back. After a time, a knock on the door disrupted her task.

"Everything all right Miss Kitty?" Sam, the bartender questioned from the outer hall.

She opened the door and waved him in. "Yes, Sam everything is fine, but I need you to go down to the train station and purchase a ticket for me, something's come up," she ran a tongue across her lips, "and I have to leave Dodge for a time."

After he'd left she pulled on her wool hooded cape and grabbed a pair of gloves and her handbag. She left by the back stairs and headed over to the bank. She withdrew a sizable amount of her savings, enough to see her through in comfort for many months, longer if she lived frugally.

She was filling in at the bar that afternoon when Dillon came in. The big man had a frown on his face, "What's this I hear about you leaving town?" He wanted to know.

She felt heat creeping up her neck, even though she had practiced this lie it was not easy telling it, "Something's come up. Do you remember me talking about my friend Ann Smith, she's having some health problems and she asked me to stay with her."

He propped an elbow on the bar so he was even with her face; he kept his voice calm even though he had a strong intuition something was wrong, "Ann Smith? I never heard of her? Where does she live?" His scowl deepened, "Kitty, do you really think you're up tothis? You still haven't completely recovered from … October."

She ignored his concerns focusing instead on the lie, "She lives in Chicago; we worked together a few years back." Picking up a bar glass, she began shining it with a clean rag; "The change will do me good. Maybe when I get home … well, maybe things can get back to the way they used to be between us … before …"

His voice was low, "They could be that way right now honey, if you'd let them."

She studied the glass, afraid for him to see the truth in her yes, "I won't be gone long …"

"Is that why you withdrew ten thousand dollars from your savings?"

She looked up and then down again, "I thought information like that was private."

"Mr. Bodkin always informs me of a suspicious withdrawal."

She arched her back setting her shoulders at a straight angle, "There is nothing for you to be concerned about; I'm a big girl and can take care of my self."

"Are you sure Kitty?" he asked.

"I'm sure, now if you'll excuse me, I have to talk with Sam about business." She saw her words had wounded him. The hurt was visible in his eyes, the pain apparent in the set of his mouth. He inhaled before attempting one last try at a connection. "I'll see you off tomorrow, what time does your train leave?"

In the space of a short conversation she'd lied to him more than in the nineteen years they'd been together, "It's the afternoon train, departing Dodge at 1:30."

"Fine, we'll have dinner at Delmonico's before you leave. I'll be by around 11:00. We'll have Doc and Festus join us."

"I'll see you then." She replied. She watched as he turned on heel and walked out of the saloon, aware this was the last time she would see him - at least for a very long time. It was better this way; a clean break without any sentimental good-byes, for by the time he came to pick her up tomorrow she would be hours and miles away.


	2. Chapter 2

**(2)**

She dressed plainly the next morning - a black traveling suit, minimal face paint and her hair pulled into a French twist. She placed an almost matronly rolled brim bonnet on her head. Trimmed in German braiding, it was decorated by tiny ostrich feathers arising from a dour black satin rosette and tied just to the side of her chin in a bow. The whole look was concealed behind a black wool hooded cape.

As she waited for Sam to come for her she carefully sealed the envelope containing the note she had penned to Dillon. Her words seemed most inadequate under the circumstances. They spoke so little of what was in her heart. Ruefully, she was reminded that there was a time, before October when there had been no need for words between them. The Dog Soldiers had changed all that. With Sam's knock, she placed the letter in her handbag. She took a last glance around her room, like someone fleeing from a burning building, wondering what prized possession should be rescued from the flames. Her eyes fell on a lawman's badge – bent and rusted. This was what she grabbed.

Sam drove her surrey to the train station by route of the back alley, minimizing the possibility of being spotted by any of her close friends. She thought of them now, Festus would have the second pot of coffee on the stove at the Marshal's office. Matt and Doc would be finishing off breakfast at Delmonico's, in happier times, before October and the Dog Soldiers; she would have been with them. She guessed this morning they were discussing how to talk her out of leaving. The hurt of parting from them without a final good bye was intense. She soothed the ache by reminding herself how much worse the pain for them would be if they knew the truth.

She followed behind, as Sam took her bags to the private compartment she'd reserved. When her luggage had been stowed away, he stood in front of her awaiting any final orders.

"I don't know how long I'll be gone Sam. You should be aware there is a possibility I won't be coming back. If that is the case I will see to it my lawyer advises you in plenty of time to exercise your options. Until then, I'm leaving the Long Branch in your hands, you do what you see fit. I trust you and your judgment." From her handbag she fished out the note she'd written for Dillon. "When a week has passed, I'd like you to give this to Matt, but not before then, promise me."

"Yes Miss Kitty, I promise."

"Take care, Sam … look out for everything …" her eyes strayed to the train window and Front Street framed by the dark curtains, "… everyone…"

"I will." He looked at his feet for a moment, "You just take care of yourself." He added, speaking for those who weren't there. The train whistle blew, once and then twice. "I'd best be leaving."

She stood on tiptoe and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. "If there were any other way …"

Sam the bartender wasn't the kind of man who clearly understood women, although at times he felt like the keeper of a harem. He reminded himself now, that this wasn't the first time Kitty Russell had packed her bags and left town. She always came back; she'd returnto them this time too. He had to believe that. He looked at her with gentle eyes, "Just don't forget where home is." She answered him with a nod, because the lump in her throat blocked sound. She stood watching him as he made his way from the train car.

The locomotive gave a lurch, the whistle repeated and the wheels began the slow clickety-clack, which picked up tone and rhythm as they gained speed.

Left alone in the tiny one windowed cubical she removed the hat from her head and sat down on the bench seat to watch the prairie pass by. It seemed a ceremonial act for in many ways it represented her life passing by. In Hayes she changed trains and again in Summitville. On her journey she kept to herself leaving her compartment for onlybrief intervals. Her meals were brought to her and a maid stopped by morning and night to see to her needs. It should have been the perfect opportunity to sort out her life and figure out the solution to her problem. Again and again she went over her options, each timecoming to the same conclusion. She had only one choice that made any sense. She had only one choice, which gave her any hope of returning to Dodge City and the friends she'd left behind.

A homing instinct was driving her. In St. Louis she boarded the Yazoo and Mississippi Valley RR heading south to New Orleans. It had been years, twelve to be exact since she'd last been to the city of her birth. Matt had been with her to help sort through the paperwork connected with her father's death. There was no one left of her family now. Her mother's father had been a gentleman planter before the war. He'd lost his property to reconstruction and had died shortly thereafter. His only daughter, Kitty's mother had beenestranged from her father when she'd chosen to marry the gambler, Wayne Russell. He had however seen fit to give her an allowance so that she could live in reasonable comfort. The stipend had ended with her death. The old man made it clear he wanted nothing to do with his daughter's child. The young Kitty was sent to live under the care of her father's friends. It had made for an unusual childhood, for Kitty had been schooled not only in the art of being a lady, but also in being a lady of the evening. It had never occurred to her to be bitter about life, she had seen too many with more who had faired poorer. A realist, Kitty had learned from her earliest days to play the hand life dealt her.

The night before she left Dodge she had decided to do so as a widow, or at least garbed as one. It would grant her anonymity and distance. Two hours from New Orleans, she dressed for the day in a heavy, unadorned crepe de chine mourning gown. It had been a year since she'd worn it - Louie Pheeters funeral. She could mark two other occasions as well that the dress had been worn. Most women in the 1870s had at least one mourning gown to their name, ever fashion conscious, Kitty had three. Death was a constant and there were strict rules governing proper attire and behavior. The wearing of the dress now seemed somehow sadly appropriately, for in a way she was mourning a death. Her heart grieved with the sorrow of it.

From the bottom of her handbag she removed a small box covered in scarlet velvet. Inside resting between blue satin folds was her mother's wedding ring. She slipped this onto her finger. Propping a hand mirror on the room's small table, Kitty studied her face. A scar, the visible reminder of her time with the dog soldiers lingered on her left cheek. Skillful with face powder and rouge Kitty had always covered it up before appearing in public. Today there would be no need. She brushed her hair and pulled it back tightly, securingthe auburn tresses in a plain bun. She opened her hatbox and removed a somber black bonnet with two layers of veiling. She placed it atop her head. The weight of it bore down on her. She pulled the first layer of veiling over her eyes, this was chin length, loosely knitnetting that showed her features but hid her expression in shadows. The second layer fell past her shoulders, and provided complete isolation from the outside world.

At the depot she gathered together her belongs and with the help of a porter, secured an immediate hansom cab. The widow's weeds granted privileges even beauty had been denied. "Where toMa'dam." The dark skinned driver asked.

"St Catherine's Hospital." She replied.

"Yez'm."

She leaned back in the cab, and took in the sights, which were familiar yet, foreign after so many years in Kansas. The air was heavy with the smell of fish and the sea, flavored by the scent of Cajun spices. Memories of her girlhood came back with random strikes of clarity. They passed by the street where she'd lived with her mother and drove along the outskirts of the red-light district where Panacea Sikes had run a gambling house. Finally the driver pulled his horses to a stop in front of an immense stone and granite facility.

"We is at St. Catherine's Ma'dam." The driver drawled opening the door for her and offering an assisting hand.

"I won't be long, will you wait please?"

"Yez'um."

She gathered her skirts and pulled back the heavy black veil leaving only the netting in place. She walked swiftly up the long paved walk to the front of the building. A doorman let her in. At the reception desk sat an older woman dressed in gray with a full stiff whiteapron. With pen in hand, she looked up from a ledger book. "May I help you?" She questioned, her voice soft and genteel showing respect and sympathy for Kitty's clothing.

"Yes, at least I think you can, I'm looking for Dr. John Chapman. I believe he's associated with this hospital."

"Why yes he is. You will find him in his office this time of day. Down the hallway, last door on the left."

"Thank you."

The air was rife with the scent of lemon oil and quinine. Her footsteps echoed down the polished corridor. She stopped in front of a smoke-glassed door with the name John Chapman, MD, painted on it and knocked. A woman who might have been a carbon copy of the receptionist answered the door.

"I'd like to see Dr. Chapman, is he in?"

"He's busy this afternoon, was he expecting you?"

"No, but I'm an old friend of his."

"What is your name please?"

"Kitty …" it didn't occur to her to disguise her name, "Kitty Russell."

"Have a seat, I'll check with the doctor." The woman nodded and disappeared behind a door. When the door opened again it was Dr. Chapman who stood with his hand on the knob.

His suit was white, and adorned by a bow tie and stethoscope. He glanced around the room clearly not expecting to see his friend robed in widow's weeds.

"Dr. Chapman …" she said rising to her feet.

"Miss Kitty?" He moved to her quickly his hands reaching out to take hers.

Despite her firm resolve, her voice trembled, "I need a friend."

"My dear, you have found a friend." He placed a supporting arm aroundher waist and led her to the inner office. "Mrs. Frederick, we are not to be disturbed."

There was a light wind, which flowed through the open windows. Starched gauze curtains floated with the breeze. The doctor showed her a comfortable leather chair and guided her down and then took the chair next to her. His face had taken on an ashen hue, "What isthis all about Kitty? Matt isn't … he didn't … surely someone would have telegraphed me …"

"Matt's fine, at least he was when I left."

"Then what …?"

She leaned forward in the chair, "John … can I trust you not to betray my confidence?"

"I've taken an oath to that effect."

"I didn't have anywhere else to turn, I don't know what to do." The long trip and the emotional trauma had taken its toll; she turned away from his kind eyes in effort to keep her self-control.

To give her time and space, Chapman rose to his feet and poured her a glass of water. "Perhaps if you tell me what the problem is, together we can find an answer." He said as he handed her the tumbler.

She took a long drink before setting it in her lap. "Three months ago I was taken hostage by a band of outlaws known as the Dog Soldiers. I was beaten and raped, and then shot, left for dead in the street, like some animal."

Horror showed in John Chapman's eyes and voice, "Kitty …. My God…What did Matt do?"

"Went after them … the whole town followed."

It had been three years since he'd returned from the frontier to his position at St. Catherine's. He'd almost forgotten the brutality of the West. This was a cruel reminder. "Did they get them?"

"Yes."

Chapman studied her for a moment. In the six months he'd lived in Dodge City he'd become quite close to the redheaded saloon woman. He'd never known anyone like her before or since. He supposed he'd fallen a little bit in love with her from the first day. Not that there was a future to it. Kitty Russell's heart was not hers to give, it belonged to Matt Dillon. He could think of nothing that would make her leave Dillon, especially if she were in trouble. Then it hit him; he reached out to take her hand, "You're going tohave a baby." It was a statement born of instinct.

"I believe I am."

"Matt doesn't know?"

She shook her head in reply.

"Doc Adams?"

"No. I couldn't put Matt through this, not Doc either for that matter."

"Have you been examined by a physician?"

Again a headshake was her negative reply.

"We'll start with that. Fortunately for you this is a teaching hospital. We have access to the finest doctors in the south. I have a colleague who specializes in obstetrics – which is the medicine of female reproduction. Considering your age and what you've been through I believe it wise to have a doctor who deals with high-risk patients. The physician I'd like you to see is giving a lecture at Women's Hospital in New York City, he should be back by the end of the week. Do you have a place to stay?"

"No."

"You'll stay with my sister and I."

"I can't …"

"You can and will, we have plenty of room and it will be good for Annabelle to have someone besides herself to think about. You have bags with you?"

"Yes, they're in the cab, I asked the driver to wait for me, while I talked to you."

Chapman pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. "4:30. Time for me to be heading home." He snapped the watch shut and offered Kitty a helping hand. At the door she took his elbow and together they walked out of the hospital to the waiting cab.


	3. Chapter 3

**(3)**

Perched atop the highest rise of the Garden District, the doctor's home was a three story French colonial of pink stucco. An intricate framework of elaborate wrought iron railings and balconies formed a garland around each level. Dr Chapman directed the driver to a side portico. A dark skinned servant of middle years and ample girth met them.

His attire was identical to the doctor's, although the condition was a bit threadbare, and the fit a half size too snug. He wore on his face a disapproving scowl. "Sir? I was just making preparations to fetch you."

"No need." Chapman replied as he assisted Kitty from the carriage, "Zebulon, we have a guest, this is Kathleen Russell."

The black man bowed his head in reverence to the mourning clothes. His voice was a rich baritone, and his speech articulate, the mark of an educated man, "Welcome to Mayhaw Mrs. Russell. May I express my sincerest sympathy for your obvious sorrow, if I may be of any assistance during your stay please do not hesitate to call upon me."

She didn't correct him on his misuse of her title, for it was exactly what she wished him to think, "Thank you Mr. Zebulon."

The servant turned to John Chapman, "Shall I take her things to the North guest room, sir?"

"I believe the South room might be better, although not as spacious as the other, there's a view of the river that's a balm to the spirit."

"Yes sir. That is true sir." Zebulon agreed. He began unloading her trunk and carpetbags from the vehicle.

Offering his arm again, Kitty and John Chapman walked up a series of shallow stone stairs and into the home. "John I had no idea …" Kitty began as she took in the scope and grandeur of the mansion.

Everything was scaled to larger than life proportions from the freestanding white oak staircase, which traveled the three floors to the magnificent crystal chandelier hanging over the main hall.

Chapman glanced around as if seeing it though her eyes. "It is rather splendid isn't it? My late Uncle's home …Mayhaw, named for the trees in the orchard of course. I inherited it when he passed on. I've never had much use for it, but Annabelle is attached."

A tall well built young woman, with up tilted eyes and skin the color of creamed coffee scurried to greet them. She was dressed in a maroon gown topped by a prim white apron. Tied around her head was the traditional seven-knotted scarf called a tignon. Once a law in New Orleans, a woman of mixed-color was required to wear the scarf to define her race. The tignon soon became a symbol of pride. Renee wore the cloth as royalty might wear a crown. She bobbed her knees, "Monsieur Doctor." Her accent was that Cajun gumbo mixture of French Creole derived from the descendants of the French who first settled Louisiana in the early 1700s, and the Creole, developed from African slaves brought to work on their plantations. Over the years it had taken on a dialect as richly original as the Louisiana bayou itself.

"Renee, this is an old friend of mine, Kitty Russell, she will be staying with us."

The younger woman smiled shyly, and bobbed, "Bonjour Madame."

"Hello Renee." Kitty answered.

"Please find Miss Annabelle, I'd like to introduce her to our guest before we show her to her room."

"Oui Monsieur, she is in zee kitchen seeing to the menu, there are guests coming for dinner."

Chapman rolled his eyes at Kitty as Renee hurried from the room in search of the doctor's sibling, "My sister likes to play the grand hostess of the manor, which is not exactly my idea of a relaxing evening. Fortunately, at least for me … more often than not, I'm called away to the hospital for some emergency."

It took a moment before Annabelle appeared. She was a petite, curvy blond. No longer young, her hair and clothing gave the illusion of youth. She wore her abundant corkscrew curls pulled to the side, with flirty bangs fringing her forehead. Her gown was an expensive iridescent blue taffeta, with plunging neckline and decorated by innumerable chocolate colored velvet bows. Her blue eyes were shaped like saucers and dimples framed her delicate rosebud mouth. Without question she epitomized the very phrase, `southern belle'. However despite the impression her looks gave, when she spoke it was with short annoyance, "What is it John? Didn't the girl tell you I was busy?"

Chapman nodded his head in Kitty's direction, "I've brought home a guest."

Kitty thought the doctor's sister looked at her as if noticing her for the first time, although how one could miss 20 yards of black crepe de chine, she didn't know. The small blonde's voice and demeanor immediately adjusted itself to fit her image. Her drawl intensified, "Oh, my stars! How can you ever forgive me for being so rude, Sugar?"

To Kitty, John said with a sweep of his hand, "Kitty Russell this is my sister Annabelle Angelique Chapman, Taylor, Booker, Nash." He added in explanation of the names, "She is a widow times three."

"I'm so sorry." Kitty murmured, clearly taken off guard by the other woman.

In respect to her deceased husbands, Annabelle's eyelashes fluttered. The honey in her voice flowed freely, "It is a cross I must bear, and tragically it appears a cross we share."

"Annabelle, Miss Kitty is a friend of mine. I have offered our home as a haven from her grief. It is to be hoped that a change of scene can ease her heartache and return her to health."

Annabelle slowly appraised Kitty's figure from head to toe, despite the heavy black crepe it was obvious to Annabelle her brother's friend was a magnificent figure of a woman. Her eyelashes fluttered again, "My dear brother, one never recovers from grief, one simply learns to endure. Might I be so bold as to ask where you and my brother became acquainted?"

With a look of silent warning, Chapman glanced at Kitty and gave a quick wink before turning back to his sister, "Colonel Russell, and I served together during the war."

"Your husband was a medical man?" Annabelle asked.

"Her husband was an officer." John replied.

"Russell … I'm familiar with Russells living in Boone Parish. What did you say his first name was?"

"I didn't my dear, and that is not your concern at present. But if you feel you must know it was … Cooper." Chapman replied smoothly.

Undeterred Annabelle continued with her questioning, "Where about are your people from Mrs. Russell?"

"Mississippi …" Kitty answered quickly this time, not giving John the opportunity, "Colonel Russell was from Mississippi."

"Sister you'll have plenty of time to get to know Kitty, but right now I want her to rest, she's had a long trip and she's been under a heavy burden of grief."

"Yes, yes of course Sugar."

She looked at Kitty again; competition for eligible wealthy men was keen in a town known for beautiful women. Annabelle had plans for her dinner party that didn't include another pretty face. She couldn't be sure what was hidden behind the veil but if it matched the rest of her this woman spelled trouble, "Since you are in mourning, you'll want someplace quiet and out of the way. I think the servant's room behind the kitchen would be appropriate. In your heartache, you will have no wish to join in the gaiety of our dinner guests. I'll have someone leave a tray of soup for you."

John's voice was firm, "Zebulon is taking her baggage to the South guest room, and I'm sure after an hour or so rest, Miss Kitty will be more than ready to join us in welcoming your dinner guests."

Kitty inhaled sharply, she was in no frame of mind to socialize, "I don't think…"

"It will do you good, doctor's orders." Chapman patted Kitty's gloved hand, which still rested in the crook of his arm. "Come my dear, I'll escort you to your room."

Once they were at the top of the stairs Kitty whispered, "You didn't let me get a word in edgewise."

"I thought it best I deal with Annabelle, she can be … ah… shall we say difficult for want of a better word."

"I sensed that … John … may I ask, why did you give my dearly departed spouse the name of "Cooper"?"

"It was the first name that came to my mind. I was treating a Mr. Cooper today for the gout."

Kitty smiled, something she hadn't done in days, "Am I to presume that is the affliction which led to the Colonel's untimely demise?"

He opened a bedroom door and allowed her to pass in a head of him. "Let's just tell folks … he died from complications of an old war injury. Most folks are too polite to question a statement like that further." He watched as she removed the heavy veil from her bonnet and then unpinned the hat, revealing the vibrant red of her hair. Her pale skin, void of makeup had an ethereal quality to it that lent a ghostly beauty to her face. When she turned to look at him, he noticed for the first time the vestiges of the scar on her cheekbone.

Feeling his gaze, her hand touched the imperfection, "Part of the legacy of Jude Bonner…" she explained, "I've learned to conceal it with moistened powder, Doc says in time it will fade completely …"

"I've no doubt he's right, time heals Kitty … time heals all wounds. You rest now, I'll send Renee up in an hour or so to help you unpack and get ready for this evening."

"Thank you John, for everything."

He smiled and nodded his head, and then left her.


	4. Chapter 4

**(4)**

The room was decorated in mid-century Victorian. The bed, bureau and armoire were all heavy pieces, ornately carved and inlaid. An enormous gilt framed mirror hung on one wall, flanked by Chippendale chairs. On the opposite wall, a bay window offered an expanded view of the town and the river below. She walked to the bed, it was enormous and required a step to get into. It was blanketed by a red brocade coverlet, which matched the draperies. Sitting next to the window seat, somewhat incongruous to the rest of the furnishings was a Shaker style rocking chair with gingham padding. The room looked nothing like home and the thought of occupying this strange space alone brought with it a wave of melancholy.

She forced the sad thoughts from her mind, for she knew she couldn't get through the next few days until she was examined by the doctor, if she allowed herself to be haunted by memories. She climbed the step to the bed and lay down; closing her eyes she promptly fell asleep.

She awoke forty-five minutes later, feelings slightly disoriented by her surroundings. Like a flash it all came back to her and she sat up in bed with her heart pounding. She forced herself to calm down. Her only solice in this situation was the fact John Chapman had offered her a port in the storm. As promised Renee came to her room, she carried a pot of tea, and plate of shortbread cookies. As Kitty sat in the rocking chair sipping the tea and nibbling the cookies, the maid, carefully unpacked Kitty's black wardrobe. She hung the dresses and skirts and neatly folded the rest in the mahogany bureau.

The one concession Kitty had packed to the glamour of her past life was the black satin and lace evening dress. Renee held it up and whistled, "Madame will wear this gown tonight? I will steam out zee wrinkles."

As she worked Renee kept up a steady stream of talk, filling Kitty in on the household pecking order. It seemed despite her diminutive size; John's sister ruled the roost and had everyone trembling in her wake. "You don't want to get on the wrong side of zee Mademoiselle Annabelle, she got a mean temper, and a wicked tongue. Madam Malloy come next, she zee cook, and as long as she in Mademoiselle's good graces you must do as she says. Mr. Zebulon doesn't have to answer to any one, except Monsieur Doctor. Lorinda, Marcia and I, we do za work."

"Three girls to take care of a house this size, you must work very hard."

"Oui Madam."

"It shows; the home is spotless."

"It never good enough to suit zee Mademoiselle. Shall I draw za bath Madame Kit-tee?"

She wasn't used to being waited on. "Thank you Renee, if you'll just show me where the wash room is, I can take care of drawing my own bath."

Any changes in her figure in the last months had only served to enhance it. Due to a queasy stomach, her waist was trimmer than it had been in years, while her breasts were full and voluptuous. Dressed in the black satin, Kitty looked and felt more like herself; and could almost forget the circumstances for being in New Orleans. She carefully applied the powder concealet to her face, hiding the scar and her freckles. She added kohl to darken her eyelashes and rouge to color her lips. In any other city, such face paint, especially on a widow might appear scandalous, in New Orleans it was expected. Home to crafty riverboat gamblers, beautiful quadroon courtesans, shrewd women of loose morals, and diamond bedecked pirates, the town had long lived up to the notorious label of Sin City, conditions had only become more shocking in the years after the war. No one could disagree with a local sheriff who had dubbed it as a "perfect hell on earth."

Like Kitty, Annabelle had taken special care with her appearance that evening. Her hair was piled in an enormous heap of curls and decorated with flowers and beads. The gown she wore was a pink confection of netting and lace, which seemed to Kitty, might have been more appropriate for a young girl. The dinner guests, mostly prominent citizens of New Orleans included a middle-aged banker, Randolph Boudry, who had lost his wife some years earlier and now was clearly locked in Annabelle's sights. Unfortunately, he seemed more taken with Kitty than with Annabelle. He listened intently as Kitty relayed an amusing story about Doc and Festus. "An elderly frontier doctor was trying to convince his friend, a man with no formal education raised in the hills of Missouri, to buy real estate as a financial investment. He suggested his friend buy a `lot.' The friend replied, 'a lot of what?' The old doctor answered, 'a little lot of land,' and the confused friend countered, `a little is a little and a lot is a lot and how can a little be a lot …"

Boudry threw back his head and laughed, "Mrs. Russell, you are an absolute delight, beauty of mind and body is a rare and valuable commodity."

Annabelle's saucer eyes narrowed to slits, "Sugar, one would never guess you're suffering a bereavement."

Kitty returned with a smile, "As you said Annabelle, `one never recovers from grief, one simply learns to endure."

"Touche."

A guest sitting opposite her smiled, "No one mourns in New Orleans at least not for long. Death is inevitable and life a celebration. A funeral is just one more cause for a parade and party."

Boudry agreed, "That's the truth, I hear there isn't another city on the face of the earth, that builds houses and creates cities for their dead the way we do."

With obvious pride, a woman seated on the other side of John Chapman remarked, "Other folks keep their skeletons hidden in a closet, here in New Orleans, we invite them out to dance."

Tired and uneasy with Annabelle's look of thinly disguised dislike, Kitty excused herself early and retired to her room while the other guests were drinking brandy and chicory laced coffee. Renee appeared moments later. "Madame Kit-tee would like me to help her undress?"Kitty was standing in front of the bedrooms six-foot tall gilt framed mirror. "That's not necessary, I've been undressing myself for years now."

"Oui, but Madame has a sad heart, I think she needs someone to take care of her for a while."

"You are perceptive."

"What does this mean … perceptive?" Renee asked as she began undoing the line of buttons down Kitty's back.

"It means … you know things without needing someone to tell you … you sense it."

Renee stopped the unbuttoning and their eyes met in the mirror, "Voudon? I read your mind?"

It had been years since she'd heard the word, "Voodoo? Yes … maybe … that is it."

Renee went back to work on the buttons, "My grandmother was Marie Laveau." She waited for a moment to see if the name registered with Kitty.

An image passed before her eyes, remembrances of a childhood long forgotten came back to her, "Marie Laveau? The Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen?"

"Oui, you know of her then."

"Listen honey, I'd defy anyone born in New Orleans not to have heard of her."

It was only a slight frown that wrinkled her brow at the news, "But Madame, you told zee Mademoiselle you were from Mississippi."

Kitty grimaced at her slip up, "So I did Renee, so I did."

Renee held out a hand as Kitty stepped from the gown, their eyes met in the mirror again and this time they exchanged a smile.

When Renee left, Kitty moved to the window seat. As John Chapman had promised the room had a magnificent view of the river. With the light from a full moon, she could see past the swamps to the brightly lit gambling boats moored on the river. She could see too, one of the cities of the dead that New Orleans was so famous for. Because the community had been built mostly below sea level, the traditional method of burying the deceased in the ground had proven inadequate. Coffins often returned to the surface and in times of flooding could be seen floating through the streets of town. By 1800 above ground burial had been established, the individual crypts taking on the form of miniature houses made from plastered and whitewashed brick and later granite and marble. The styles were varied architecturally, the classical revival style was prominent, but there were also Baroque, Gothic, Egyptian and Eastern examples. Kitty recalled as a child watching her own mother being placed in such a tomb in the `city of the dead'.

The window was open and she could hear the beat of the drums and calabashes and the chanting voices of the Negroes assembled in Congo Square. Before the Civil War, slaves had been allowed to gather in the field on Orleans and Rampant St. on Sundays, and religious holidays. Here they were allowed free expression of their African customs, especially dancing to the tribal music of the drums. Here too, they practiced the religion of Voodoo; the New Orleans version - a strange combination of African pagan worship and Catholicism. Renee's grandmother, a free woman of color named Marie Laveau, rose to prominence in the 1830s for her ability to provide supernatural aid to those in desperate situations. For a price, she would cast and remove spells, concoct love potions, and tell the future. There was some discussion especially by the skeptics, as to which of her skills was more prominent, clairvoyance or business acumen.

After a time Kitty left the widow seat to crawl under the smooth satiny sheets of the four-poster bed. She closed her eyes and looked for sleep, listening to the pounding rhythm of the drums from Congo Square.

Her mind wouldn't rest. Every thought reminded her of home and Matt Dillon. The memory was not sweet for it also carried with it the knowledge of the reason she'd returned to New Orleans. It was the thought of that unimaginable curse which plagued her. Time and again she asked the silent question, `why me?' Her reply, inspired by a sense of self-preservation, was to block Matt's image from her memory.

GS GS GS GS

She put on a black wool dress, ornamented only by fine pin tucking of the bodice. It was fortunate she wore black well, for even the plainest garment took on elegance when draped against her fair skin and red hair.

She met John as she was coming down the stairs for breakfast. "Good morning, I trust you slept well."

She nodded, "Yes, thank you."

The answer was a lie. He was physician enough to see the truth and friend enough not to question her further. "You'll feel better once you've seen the doctor, Kitty. It is hard to deal with the unknown, for you can't plan ahead when you have no direction to the path of the future."

"I'm not sure I want to know the future."

"That is understandable. However, I think you will find no problem is insurmountable. I'm sorry I won't be able to spend time with you today; I have a full schedule of patients this morning, as well as lectures to medical students this afternoon. I trust Annabelle will do her best to keep you entertained."

In the grand dining room, the table had been reduced in size from the evening before but was still large enough to accommodate eight Hepplewhite lyre-backed chairs. Kitty was already seated at the table when John's sister made her appearance. Annabelle's short stature was dressed for the day in a green and white checked percale. The gown had a square yoke accented by two rows of ribbons and ruffles. A large bustle highlighted the backside. She made an elaborate show of swishing around the dining room before taking her seat at the head of the table. Clearly she considered herself superior to Kitty. Her tone was meant to impress, "I'm sure you'll understand Sugar, as one of the prominent figures of New Orleans high society, my schedule is not my own. I know John mentioned I would be keeping you company, but I'm afraid that is simply not possible. I have dress fittings today for a very important social function next week, after which I've been invited to tea with the Loyal Order of the Ladies of the Confederacy. I'm afraid you will have to amuse yourself. John has an excellent library if you're the bookish type."

"Don't worry about me." Kitty said, dreading being alone with her thoughts but relieved she wouldn't have to put up with a full day of Annabelle.

She'd finished coffee and toast and was ready to leave the table when the doorbell rang and moments later Zebulon appeared at the room's massive archway, "Mr. Randolph Boudry." He announced. The banker was dressed in an elegant day suit and top hat and carrying a gold knobbed ebony walking stick. He nodded his head at Annabelle walking past her to Kitty, He made a formal bow, "Forgive my impetuous nature lovely lady, but I would greatly enjoy taking you for an early morning ride and showing off some of the sites of our fair city."

Annabelle's look could have set fire to a prairie, but she managed to keep her soft voice in check, "Mr. Boudry, have you forgotten? Mrs. Russell is in mourning, she can hardly be seen gadding about town in the company of a handsome eligible gentleman."

Boudry chuckled, "Miss Annabelle, we dispensed with the mourning issue last night. My only wish is to provide your beautiful guest with a diversion from grief. I know John is busy with his duties at St. Catherine's."

Kitty rose from the table, placing the napkin to the side of her plate, "I think a tour of New Orleans would be a most welcomed diversion, will you give me a moment to get ready?"

He bowed his head, "Only a moment, for you are perfect as you are and need not the primping required by most of the fair sex."

Annabelle's eyes narrowed, her pretty mouth puckered and she folded her arms across her heaving bosom. Randolph Boudry appeared not to notice her tantrum. He sat down at the table and helped himself to a cup of coffee.

When Kitty returned to the room it was in black bonnet and veil. Randolph looked disappointed at being deprived of the site he'd been looking forward to. But Annabelle seemed slightly appeased. She made one last attempt at gaining her would be suitor's favor. With dimples in place and eyelashes fluttering, she cooed, "Randolph honey, I'm trying to decide which dress would be most appropriate for your soirée. Do you prefer me in pink or red?"

He raised an eyebrow; "I never felt a woman over a certain age should dress herself in colors, draws attention to that best left disguised." He held an arm out to Kitty, "Shall we go my dear?"

The carriage was an elegant boxlike coach known as a `brougham'. It accommodated two passengers and was pulled by a matching team of chestnut hackney geldings. A black coachman in livery attire sat on the outside in the drivers seat. Randolph helped her into the conveyance before he climbed in. With a backward glance Kitty saw a disgruntled Annabelle watching from a front widow.

The ride did prove a pleasant distraction; the carriage took them past the LaBrace building on Royal Street, where Boudry pointed out the filigree ironwork cast in acorn and oak leaf design. They traveled by the magnificent buildings of Tulane University, to Jackson Square, the Cabildo and St. Louis Cathedral. Boudry proved a charming companion, for he had a wealth of interesting stories to divert her mind from her problems.

"I understand about loss Mrs. Russell, I still miss my wife even though I've been without her for several years now. After a while you come to the realization that life does indeed go on."

"I'm sure you're right." Kitty replied although not agreeing, for she knew life for her, without Dillon in it, was without value.

As the carriage pulled around the Mayhaw portico on their return to John Chapman's house, Randolph asked, "May I request the honor of your presence for a carriage ride again tomorrow, there is still much of the city to see?"

"I don't think so, but I thank you just the same."

He persisted, "Perhaps another day?"

"Perhaps." She hedged.

"The day after tomorrow then." He asked refusing any answer but a positive one.

She smiled at his persistence, "Yes, I'll look forward to it."

Chapman was pleased when she told him about Boudry's attentions that evening. He liked the banker. He'd doctored his wife through her illness, and knew how deeply affected Randolph had been by her death. He also knew his sister had designs on the wealthy widower and he felt it might be good for Annabelle not to get everything she set her fancy to.

Kitty rode with Randolph twice more that week and on the weekend he joined the Chapman's for a quiet dinner, and it was at that meal he asked Kitty to be his guest at his upcoming party.

"It should be pleasant," he promised, "the first party I've given since Miss Winifred passed on. I would be proud to have a beautiful woman on my arm to take away some of the nervousness."

Kitty shook her head, "I don't know Mr. Boudry. I don't think I'm up to the kind of event you describe."

"Come with John and Annabelle if you think that might be more appropriate." Randolph persuaded, "and I promise if you feel uncomfortable you may leave."

She was looking for an excuse, "I don't really have anything along that would be appropriate to wear."

"The dress you wore at our first meeting is most beautiful especially with you wearing it."

Chapman concurred, "It will do you good Kitty and as Randolph said, you may leave the moment you feel ill at ease."

Kitty gave a pleading look to Chapman, surely he knew the party was the same day as her doctor appointment with the specialist John had recommended. She couldn't look past that appointment, for her future hinged on its results. Her face had become paler and there was a slight tremor to her hand as she set down her coffee cup. "We'll see Mr. Boudry, but please don't plan on me."


	5. Chapter 5

(5)

One week from the day of her arrival in New Orleans, Kitty Russell rode with John Chapman to St. Catherine's Hospital. John took her to his office and told her to wait while he conferred with the obstetrician he wished her to see. When he returned he beckoned her to follow him. As they walked down the corridors of the hospital he explained a little about the doctor.

"His name is Professor Dr. Gerhardt Pittlekow, he studied medicine at the University of Munich and came to the States with his daughter Adelheide shortly after the war. His manner is somewhat harsh, but he has a fine medical mind."

Professor Pittlekow met them at his office door. He was a big man with a balding head and bushy black beard. His voice was booming and his accent thick, his English interspersed with German, "Guttentag Frau Russell, Dokter Chapman has told me about your loss, as vell as your suspected schwangerschaft - pregnancy." She shook the doctor's hand, but said nothing. He continued. "Mine krankenpflegerin vill assist you in changing for the untersuchung. Vhen I am finished I vill discuss my findings with you."

The nurse was a short round woman who despite the bastion of a whale- boned corset still managed to jiggle with every step she took, she had a rosy cherub face and like the doctor she spoke with a German accent.

She explained everything as she assisted Kitty, "Now you vill take off de clothes und lay on de exam table, I put dis sheet on you … like so… und den Professor Pittlekow vill take a look, you vill not vorry, I stay wit you. He is good doktar, but he is not so gute at making das maedchen feel at ease."

The exam was embarrassing and uncomfortable and Kitty wished she was almost anywhere but where she was. He asked her numerous and personal questions all the while poking and prodding at her private parts. Finally he told her she could get dressed and he left the room. When she'd put her clothing back on the nurse directed her to the doctor's office. John Chapman was waiting for her. Sitting at his desk, the Professor took off his spectacles and studied her, his head tilted to the side before a hint of a smile crossed his stern features. "Sit down I vill tell you vat I have found. As you suspected you are vith kinder. You are going to have a baby. It is my opinion the birth will take place in late July or early August."

Up to that point she'd lived with a faint hope this had all been an extension of a horrible nightmare. There was a whooshing sound in her ears and a dark cloud floated in front of her eyes, she was on the verge of passing out and she knew it. She tried to concentrate on Professor Pittlekow but all she could hear was his verdict, `you are going to have a baby.'

"I vill want you to immediate start on a strict regimen - sleep ten hours a day, long valk twice a day. Meat, vegetables, fruit, und milk, you must drink much milk, it is vat das kleinkind need to grow. I vill vant to see you once a month, sooner if you have problems, pain, bleeding, svelling … anyting out of de ordinary. I understand you vill be staying wit Doktar Chapman during your confinement."

She nodded wanting more than anything to run from the room and out of this building and never stop until the demons of the Dog Soldiers had finally been outdistanced.

Professor Pittlekow's face hardened and he spoke with utmost seriousness, "Even in dis advanced age of medicine Frau Russell, death in or related to childbirth is high, infant mortality even higher. You are old to bear first kinder, your body has been through obvious trauma, I can not guarantee your well-being, and vill not take on your case unless you agree to follow my orders."

Her face was set in panic but she would have said anything, done anything to get away from there. "Yes, I agree." she answered.

"Sehr gute."

She was quiet on the way back to Mayhaw, hidden behind the layers of black cloth veiling; Chapman couldn't tell what she was feeling. He tried several times to initiate a conversation without success. As he helped her down from the buggy he said, "I'd like to talk with you in my study, if you need to take a few minutes in your room to compose yourself I will understand."

There was a flatness to her voice that he didn't recognize, "No, what ever you have to say, I'm ready to hear it."

"Fine." He led the way to his office; a lovely mahogany walled room lined with bookshelves. A large bay window looked out on one of the estate's Mayhaw orchards. "Sit down Kitty, I'll ask Zebulon to bring us something to drink." The room was like a greenhouse, rays of morning sun shown through the glass.

She'd forgotten just how warm New Orleans could be even in winter. She removed her gloves and bonnet waiting for Chapman to play his hand.

Zebulon came in with the tray; John thanked him and waited until he'd left shutting the door behind him.

She turned to him and squared her shoulders, "Say it John."

"Matt Dillon cares deeply for you. Are you sure you don't want him to know about your condition, I can't imagine him not wanting to be with you during a time like this. I can send a telegram to Dodge City today."

Her life was in turmoil, but this was the one thing she knew for sure, "I don't want Matt to know."

"It's going to be difficult, a woman alone with a child. You can't go back to the saloon with a baby. I've been thinking - Kitty, we've always gotten along well …"

She interrupted him, "No John."

"I'm not asking you to make any decisions right now, think about it, consider the options. We could have a good life together …"

Her voice started out soft, apologetic, "I don't love you John … at least not in that way. More importantly I don't love this child. I don't want this child … the very thought of it makes me sick." In the blink of an eye, the softness left Kitty Russell, "I want an abortion."

"Kitty … you can't be serious."

"I am dead serious. The way I see it, I'll be doing the world a favor."

"You're forgetting this child is blood of your blood …" He'd never imagined her this way, so filled with hate.

"If I had a cancerous growth, you wouldn't think twice about cutting it out … as far as I'm concerned that is what I'm carrying." Her lips curled away from her teeth, and her face turned ugly, "I want you to cut it out. If you care anything about me, John you'll do this."

He shook his head, "Abortion is no longer legal in Louisiana, and if it were, I'd be morally against it."

She glared at him in disbelief, "Even in a case like this?"

"Yes."

She was shaking with anger, but her voice was strong, fierce, without tremor, "Can't you understand, I was raped … not once but many times and by so many men I lost count. Let me tell you, I can still smell their nauseating stench, and hear their filthy words and the sound that came deep from in their throats … like animals as they drove into me. You have the nerve to speak to me of morals?" She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, "If you won't do it, then give me a name, someone, anyone who'll get rid of this … this thing for me. I have money. I can pay whatever it takes."

"I know of no respected physician who would risk his license to perform an illegal operation." He moved closer to her taking her shoulders in his hands and forcing her to face him. "You're in shock right now my dear … you're heartsick and tired. I'd like to give you something so you might rest. I've found invariably things look better after a good sleep."

"I don't want to sleep, I have no use for dreams that can't come true and I won't change my mind." She pulled free of his hold and walked from the room with out looking back. John Chapman watched her leave, and then turned to look at the view from his window feeling powerless – impotent.

Though she couldn't admit it, she was at that point, incapable of rational thought. John was right when he said she was in shock, but her state of mind went deeper than the physical condition, she sat at the chair by the window rocking. Funny how a chair used to pacify can also be fueled by restless rage. The pace of the rocker didn't slow as Kitty tried to work through the confusion to a sane solution. She didn't notice at first until the voices became so loud they couldn't be ignored. From outside her door she heard angry words being exchanged by Renee and Annabelle. She slowed the chair to listen.

"I'm not your nigger girl, Mademoiselle Annabelle. In case you haven't heard we been freed, long time now. You can not make me do what I don't want to do. I can quit."

"Oh you can quit and good riddance to you, but if you do, I swear you'll not find an equal job for I'll let all the fine households know of your uppity attitude."

Without a knock her door opened, pushing her way into the room, Annabelle stormed in with Renée in tow. She poked her soft white finger at Kitty, "My stars, if I didn't have you figured right from the start Sugar. Why you're nothing but a refugee from the red light district. You're that saloon harlot my brother met on his little western adventure aren't you? Why the way he talked about you back then, I should have figured you'd show up with a mantrap. Your kind always does."

Kitty stood up, "What are you talking about?"

"I heard the conversation you had with my brother in his office. The sound from within is quite audible from just outside the door. He thinks he wants to marry you." She scoffed, "He wants to provide a home for your bastard child."

"You needn't worry, I told him `no' and I meant it. I have no wish to take over your responsibilities as the mistress of Mayhaw."

"It's not Mayhaw I'm concerned with, it's Randolph Boudry, he has far more money than my brother will ever see; marriage to him will guarantee me the social standing I deserve. Unfortunately, he is as much a fool as my brother. As long as you are in the picture, there is no hope for me."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want nothing from you except to have you leave New Orleans and never come back, to that purpose, I have arranged for someone to get rid of your little indiscretion. There is a woman located on Dumaine Street in the Vieux Carre, who performs the service you seek. She charges $100.00, which is expensive but I believe you will see it worth the price. You will tell my brother you have a sick headache and cannot attend the party at Mr. Boudry's home tonight, but you wish us to go ahead without you. After we are gone, Renee will take you to her."


	6. Chapter 6

(6)

Chapman had studied her with a medical eye when she'd claimed a headache and told him she'd not be able to attend the party. Not that he had expected her to go after the scene that morning. In truth he was far more shaken than he chose to admit, for he'd never realized the full impact of rape. It hadn't occurred to him before just how deeply the act scarred a woman's psyche. As a physician he'd been trained to treat the flesh. This emotional trauma was far more devastating than any physical hurt he'd ever doctored. The invisible wounds were profound and seemed incapable of complete healing.

He'd visited her room a second time, just before he and Annabelle were set to leave for the party. "I don't like leaving you alone tonight." He told her.

She was sitting in the rocking chair, her pale face strained by tension, "I won't be alone, Renee will be here."

"Just the same…" he started.

She managed a smile, which eased some of his worry, "Mr. Boudry is counting on you to be there. He's nervous about his first party since his wife died." She glanced out to the window and then back at him, "Look John, I'm fine … I'm sorry for my emotional outburst. As you said it was the shock, I'm over that now. I just need some quiet thought to plan for the future."

He patted her hand and promised, "I'll put in my appearance and be home early."

She had spent that afternoon in the rocking chair by the window, watching the storm clouds move across the sky like the ebb and flow of high tide. Kitty was not a vengeful person, nor had reprisal been a motive to her before, but now it empowered her reasoning. This growing thing she carried inside her was the physical embodiment of wickedness. Getting rid of it was a strike against the monsters who had attacked her. She could not think past the faces and voices of nameless Dog Soldiers. Alone with the dark sky and even darker thoughts, she relived the hours she had been held hostage by Jude Bonner's men. The memory was a constant in her mind, never far from the surface and always ready to drag her down in a never-ending maelstrom of deep unyielding despair. Like some talisman to ward off an ever-present evil she held tightly in the palm of her hand Matt Dillon's badge. The shape was distorted, showing the mark left by a bullet when the badge had become a shield, were that it could become a shield now she thought and protect her from her own demons.

Shortly after John and Annabelle's carriage pulled away from the portico, Renée came to her bedroom door. She was dressed in a black gown and matching turban. "It is time Madame." She said holding Kitty's cape for her to put on. "You have the money?"

"Yes," Kitty answered, "I have the money."

They left Mayhaw by the servants' staircase and a side door. The rain clouds partially concealed the moonlight making it difficult for Kitty to tell the direction they were headed. Renée led the way through the dark streets and Kitty could only follow as they moved among the shadows.

In a hoarse whisper, Kitty asked Renée, "How will we get back to Mayhaw after this is over?"

There was a catch to the young woman's voice, "Madame, I am sorry but you will not be coming back to Mayhaw. You will stay with Irma until zee bleeding has stopped and you have your strength back."

She stood in the street, "But … what about my belongings … my money …Surely Dr. Chapman will be wondering what's become of me…"

"Zee Mademoiselle Annabelle will find a note she say you have written to the Monsieur Doctor. It say you have returned to your home. You will be given train ticket and small amount of cash to do so. The rest, your things and money she will keep, she say you owe her."

"Fine." Kitty replied with a nod of her head, "It's a small price to pay."

They turned a corner and began walking down a cobblestone lane. There were no streetlamps here; the only light was that which burned in the windows of the cottages lining the road. They stopped at the third house on the left. Kitty tripped when she stepped on the broken stair in front of the door, catching herself from falling on the rickety porch rail. Renee knocked twice and then twice more.

The door opened a crack and a voice asked, "You brung her?"

"Oui"

"She got the money?"

"I have the money." Kitty answered. The door opened slowly and she alone was allowed inside. The place was small; the parlor hardly big enough for a shabby mismatched settee and chair.

The middle-aged white woman, who had opened the door held out her hand, mistakenly Kitty thought it was in greeting. "The money first, we ain't gonna do nothing without the cash in my hand."

Nodding her head in understanding, Kitty opened up the small reticule she carried and drew out the one hundred-dollar bill. Before handing it over, her eyes traveled the length of the large muscular woman, taking in her somewhat disheveled and soiled appearance; she recognized her caste, she was what was commonly referred to as `poor white trash.'

Her voice held steady, "Are you the one who'll be doing … it?"

"My man does the dirty work." She said, yanking the bill from Kitty's hand. "You'll have to wait a spell, he's working on another of your kind. You can set down in here, till he's ready for you."

"Irma, get your ass back in here" A crude, though perhaps better educated voice yelled from the back room.

"Keep your pants on ol' man, I' is com'in," The woman shrieked back. She unhooked a key from her belt and locked the front door. "Don't want no uninvited guests showin up fer the party," She pulled out a derringer from a fold in her skirt."Wouldn't wanta hafta use this." She said with a threatening voice before she left the room.

Alone in the parlor Kitty tried to make herself comfortable on the chair, she scooted over to the far side to avoid the loose springs. She knew enough about medicine from years of helping Doc to realize the importance of sanitary conditions. Even in the parlor's dim light she could see a layer of grime covering wall, floor and furniture.

It was harder still to ignore the sounds and smells coming out of the next room. From the cries of pain it was apparent the woman being operated on was not given any form of anesthesia. The thought of what lay ahead for her, worked away at Kitty's intestines. The back of her throat burned with bile. Horror stories she'd heard about botched abortions came to her mind, women dumped in back alleys left bleeding to death, or post operative infections which ravaged the victim's body, leading to a slow painful end. Most disconcerting were the tales regarding the gruesome birth defects of infants unlucky enough to have survived.

As if on cue she felt a flutter in her lower stomach, it could have been the result of any of a half dozen things, but she knew it wasn't. So light, delicate, so sweet, like the wings of a butterfly floating against a Kansas spring breeze. It was the quickening, a mother's first knowledge of a baby's movement defining growth and life. She hadn't expected it and moreover she would not have expected to be stirred by it. But she was and her hand traveled down to protectively cup the area. It remained there for a heart beat. Suddenly, she stood up, her voice a determined whisper, "I can't go through with this." And louder so that Irma could hear in the back room. "Unlock the door, I want to get out." Irma reappeared in the hallway. She wore, hanging from her neck and tied loosely at her back, an apron, which resembled that worn by a butcher complete with bloodstains. Her voice was an angry snarl, "Let you out so's you can go to the police and turn us in? Ain't no way you is getting outa here till we's done the deed you paid us to do. Till you is just as guilty as me `n Reggie."

"Keep the money, I won't turn you in, just unlock the door and let me go." Kitty said. She could see the bulge of the key ring behind Irma's apron.

Irma moved toward her, "I said no."

In desperation, Kitty made a lunge for the key, but the other woman was too fast for her. Grabbing Kitty's arm with her left, Irma swung with her right, landing a hard fist to the belly. Kitty doubled over in pain and fell to the floor. "That oughta learn ya. Don't give me no more grief, you hear!" As if for insurance Irma kicked the prostrate Kitty in the back, "I ain't got no tolerance fer it."

Irma left her where she was and returned to the back room. Gasping for breath from the force of the blow, Kitty Russell lay on the filthy floor; finally she dragged herself to the settee and pulled herself up. The movement exacerbated the pain, which came as excruciating spasms across her abdomen and spine. She was aware of moisture between her legs and even in her agony wondered if the `deed' had already been accomplished.

Sometime later Irma came back in the parlor for her. "Get up." She ordered.

"I … I can't."

"You is more trouble than you's worth." The woman grabbed Kitty and pulled her roughly to her feet. "Walk," she ordered and began half dragging her toward the back room. They had reached the hall just as there was a pounding on the front door.

"You in there, open the door!" From a pain-shrouded fog, Kitty recognized the voice as John Chapman's.

"What you want?" Irma hollered.

"You've got a woman in there, Kitty Russell, I've come to take her home."

"Got no one here by that name, go away."

The pain was unbearable, but she realized she was a dead woman without John Chapman's aid so she summoned what was left of her strength and cried, "John … help me."

There was sudden force applied to the door and the splintering of wood as it came crashing to the floor. Chapman and Zebulon burst into the room.

Letting go of Kitty, Irma fumbled for the derringer hidden in her pocket and shouted, "You is trespassing, you ain't got no right to break into a body's home."

Zebulon moved in front of the woman and grabbed her by the neckline of her dress holding it tight, choking off her speech. "Woman, if you don't stop talking immediately, I will see to it that you never speak again."

Chapman ran to Kitty, catching her as she fell and easing her descent to the floor, "Kitty … my God, Kitty … what did they do to you."

"Help me…" She whispered as the vortex she'd fought against for so long, finally won.

**GS GS GS GS**

The stars in the sky shining in from the bedroom window were the first things Kitty saw when she opened her eyes again. Drugs had dulled her pain and mind. Her thinking was confused and she was unable to focus on time and place. The only reality she could grasp was the comfort of a clean bed and the kind hands caring for her. A word came to her lips, and it was the one word, which had meaning, "Matt … Matt …" The significance was lost on the man who heard.

Professor Pittlekow turned up the lamp next to her bed. He took her wrist in his hand and checked off the beats of her heart with the ticking of his pocket watch. "Schlafen, sleep, Frau Russell, you are very sick, you must rest."

She closed her eyes blocking out the star shine and the Professor's profile. Later she woke to find John Chapman sitting in the chair. He smiled and waited for her eyes to focus and recognition to show on her face.

"Well, are you surfacing for good this time or just passing through again?" he asked kindly.

Her mouth was dry and her throat sore, but she managed to get the words out. "The baby?"

His hand reached over to rest lightly against the blanket covering her stomach. "The baby is still with you." His voice softened and a gentle smile lifted his lips, " I would never have believed it could survive what you've just been through. In fact there was more than once in the past ten days that I didn't think you would survive."

He raised his hand to cradle her face. She moved her head slightly to accommodate him, "How … how did you know?" she asked.

He frowned until understanding came to him, "Where you were? Renee found me at Randolph Boudry's; fortunately Zebulon was waiting with the carriage. Renee led us to you. I'm indebted to her. Between Zeb and I, we were able to break down the door and get you out of there."

Tears of weakness pooled in her sad eyes. "I … I'm so sorry."

"No my dear, I am the sorry one, sorry for not recognizing the depth of your emotional pain, as well as the depth of my sister's dislike for you. You'll not have to worry about her again; I've sent Annabelle to St. Louis to visit friends and have advised her to make other living arrangements should she decide to return to New Orleans."

He gave her a sip of water, "Kitty, I understand how much you abhor the thought of giving birth to this child. As a physician, I am morally and ethically opposed to any action, which might harm the infant, and will do everything in my power to see your pregnancy to term. But I want you to know, once the child has been delivered you do not have to care for it or acknowledge it in any way. The Sisters of Charity at Our Lady of Perpetual Hope Convent run an orphanage. Immediately after birth, the child can be sent to them, they will care for it. You can stay here until you have regained your strength and then if you still desire to leave, return to Dodge City to resume your former life."

She closed her eyes without giving John Chapman an answer. Her mind was cluttered with emotions impossible to categorize. Though she couldn't define it, amid the tumult, in that secret dimension between life and death there had been planted within her a small seed of respect for the child who refused to die.


	7. Chapter 7

(7)

It was another ten days before she was considered out of danger. "You have suffered serious injury, dere vas damage to internal organs, and much abdominal bleeding. Fortunately der kinder appears to be unharmed. However, I cannot be certain of dis und for dat reason, I vant you on complete bed rest." Professor Pittlekow ordered.

Although he had not been told the exact circumstances leading to her injury, the Professor was able to piece together a fairly accurate portrait of what had happened. An article had appeared in the paper, which told of the woman who had been in the back room at the time of Kitty's rescue, it detailed some of the events of that evening. The unfortunate woman had died as a result of Reggie's bungled surgical attempts. The New Orleans Times-Picayune had reported, "_It was due to the heroics of a prominent New Orleans physician and his servant, that police were able to apprehend Reginald Higgins and his wife Irma. Undoubtedly their swift action saved the life of another unfortunate woman who was waiting her turn under the madman's knife_."

"Vhen a voman has suffered loss, as you have with the death of your husband … baby is like burden … dis feeling vill pass und you vill grow to love da child. Soon, another veek or so, you vill feel da baby move, you vill understand it is life growing vithin you, den de love a mutter has for das kind, the child, will be known to you." She didn't have the energy to tell him she'd felt the baby move weeks before. She had nodded her head too tired to explain why she could never love this child. She was realizing life through the eyes of a fatalist, what was to be would be. She had been fighting destiny ever since she was a young child, not now, not anymore, with sad clarity she realized the utter futility of it.

She acknowledged to herself alone that in as much as she had been held hostage by Jude Bonner, she was now and forever more a prisoner of that unholy union. Depression took hold of her, her days spent in the isolation of the South bedroom traveled to night and to day again but she paid little attention to their course. She did as she was told, ate, slept and answered questions with as few words as possible. There was no comfort in memories of the past and no hope in thoughts of the future. She trained her mind not to think, not to feel and to find its sanctuary dwelling in a vacuum.

Thus the cool dreary months of a rainy winter passed. As spring came and the pregnancy progressed she was finally encouraged to get out of bed. After so long a period of inactivity she lacked the strength to do more than walk to the chair by the window seat. It was easier here to lose her self in emptiness. River, sky and the night sounds of Congo Square all carried her as far from reality as she needed to go.

As both friend and physician Chapman recognized the signs, he knew but one antidote for the poison of her despair, but an oath and promise kept him from the cure. Still not a week went by that he didn't ask her, and not a week went by that she didn't reply, "I don't want Matt to know."

**GS GS GS GS**

All he had was the letter she had left for him in Sam's keeping. The bartender's instructions were not to give it to Dillon until she'd been gone a week.

He had been furious when he'd come to take her to Delmonico's that day and found she'd already left town on an early morning train. He'd mentioned to Doc, Festus, Newly and Sam that he was, "too old to play games and if that's what she wanted good luck to her." They all recognized his anger as hurt and had tried to remind him this might be for the best, at least until Miss Kitty was able to forget Jude Bonner and the Dog Soldiers.

He'd nodded and took a long drink of beer. He wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve, something Kitty would have frowned upon. "She's a grown woman. She can take care of herself." He said mimicking her words and trying to make himself believe it.

He'd been alone in his office when the bartender had stopped by with the letter. "Miss Kitty wanted you to have this, Marshal."

Dillon had stared at the envelope a moment before he reached for it and took it in his own hand. "When did she give you this?" He wanted to know.

"Right before she left, she made me promise not to give it to you until tonight."

In spite of himself he smiled at the thought of her extracting such a pledge from the bartender. "Thank you Sam." He replied. He turned it over in his hands before setting it down on his desk.

"Can I get you anything Marshal? Can I do anything for you?" Sam asked in an effort to appease his own sense of helplessness.

"Thanks, no." The bartender left leaving the lawman alone to read the letter in private. Before he did, Dillon reached in his lower desk drawer and extracted a bottle of brandy; "Napoleon", Kitty'd called it when she'd given it to him five months earlier. Since then he'd only had a drink or two from the bottle, thinking he'd save it for a time they could enjoy it together. Now he took a moment to read the fancy gilded label, Delpech Fougerat Napoleon Brandy, since 1777. It was a favorite of hers, she'd told him. Kitty was always trying to introduce him to the finer things in life. Pulling out the two small etched glasses that she'd given him with the bottle, he filled each one. He sat at his desk and downed the first before opening the envelope and reading the letter. It was written much more formally than she usually spoke, a habit left over he supposed from her seminary school education during the time she had lived with her mother.

_Dear Matt,_

_Please forgive me for not allowing you to accompany me to the train. Good-byes are hard and in the end serve no purpose but to prolong the pain of leaving. I am aware by pushing you away these last months, keeping you at arms length, I've caused you pain and this is unbearable to me. Please know my leaving has nothing to do with my feelings for you, but is more an effort to understand myself and what has happened to change me so dramatically that I no longer recognize the image when I look in the mirror. Please don't worry about me, or try to find me. My absence is not forever. God willing, I'll come home again. Until then, you shall remain ever close in my heart._

_Kitty_

His head fell back until it rested against the wall behind his chair. He stared at the ceiling so long his eyes burned. Nothing else he could ever remember was as painful as the loneliness he was suddenly overcome with. It was a long while later that he drank the second glass of Napoleon Brandy.

Doc advised him over and over again, "She needs this time alone Matt, she needs to come to terms with what happened and only then will she be able to come back to us." Dillon agreed with Adams because it provided hope that someday she would return. He prayed `time' would be able to do what he had not. For since October, he had exhausted every means he knew of to make her aware of his feelings. Words of love, so hard for him to speak had become part of his daily vocabulary with her, but all his efforts had only served to increase the estrangement.

He was not a man easily broken, anyone could tell you that. But in all truth it was the love of this woman, which had sustained his strength for so long. Without her he knew he was a weaker man than he'd ever been before. It became a part of his façade to keep this knowledge from gaining public awareness, to go on just as if nothing had happened, just as if the world hadn't opened up and swallowed his reason for living.

Those close to him understood, but were helpless to remedy his loss. They looked on sorrowfully, as each day when he picked up his post he would sift through the envelopes looking for the perfectly flowing slanted script, which might indicate she was coming back. They noticed when the morning stage pulled into town how he'd happen to be standing at the front door of the Marshal's office, watching as the passengers stepped down from the coach. Each day without her, they knew the crack in his heart widened.

The big man became increasingly restless. When she'd been gone two months without a word, he began making inquiries and sending telegrams to friends she'd been known to visit on her travels. He made several attempts to locate Ann Smith the woman she said she was going to help in Chicago, although he'd long ago decided she did not exist. Finally he went through Kitty's room, sorting though her things, vainly trying to find a clue to her desertion. He found no answers, only memories of what had been between the two of them, mementoes she'd kept of their times together.

In early March he was wounded in a bank robbery attempt. A fever set in and for several days his mind was fogged in delirium. He asked for her, and Doc would say, "she's coming soon, you just rest." But she didn't come and in time the fever left, his wound healed and his mind was right again. With uncharacteristic weariness, he put on the burden of his false armor of indifference, and those around him hurt with his pain, but followed his lead and said nothing about the loss.

Sam received no communication from her. His orders from Kitty before she left were to run the business as if she were still there. "I don't know how long I'll be gone, it may be a long time, but I trust you to do the right thing." So he worked the long hours, kept the ledgers and ordered the stock and supplies. Everyone knew something was missing and the saloon became a melancholy place, business was still good, but the patrons were known to sit morosely staring at their beer and listening for the swish of satin and the schoolgirl giggle which could transform to a bawdy laugh with only a little prompting. They missed her beauty, her kindness and her fire. Finally Sam hired a red haired hostess to fill in the gap Miss Kitty had left. It had the opposite effect, for seeing someone trying to take her place made the absence all the more acute.

GS GS GS GS

Bessie Roniger marked the dates on her calendar as she had with her own pregnancies. She wondered where Kitty was and what was happening to her. She desperately wanted to do something to help. Several times she'd attempted to tell Dillon what she knew. Each time memory of the promise she'd made prevented her from doing so. The pledge of secrecy was a mighty load to bear, it affected her usual happy personality; she snapped at her children and avoided her husband. When her healthy appetite became affected Will Roniger figured she had a serious problem. He demanded to know what was troubling her. It wasn't a surprise to hear it had something to do with Kitty Russell. He had suspected as much. "She'll come home one of these days, don't you worry." He'd told her.

She lowered her head to hide the guilt she felt. She was afraid to tell her husband what she knew, but his gentle coaxing finally drew out the truth. Roniger understood about friendship and promises and the bond, which tied saloon woman and farm wife together in friendship. He put his arms around Bessie, "You have to tell Matt." He said as he kissed the top of her head.

"I know." She admitted with a sob. "But how?"

The May air was filled with the scent of apple blossoms and lilacs, the trees were spring green with fresh life, baby birds and young children chirped with the prospect of a long growing season of warm weather and bounty, but Bessie didn't notice as she stood outside Dillon's office. "You want me to come in with you?" Will asked.

"No," she replied, "but stick close at hand … I'm going to need you when this is over." Her hands were sweating, her heart thumping, her mouth so dry she was sure she wouldn't be able to spit out the words, yet knowing in spite of her promise to keep silent, she could no longer do so.

He was sitting at his desk when she knocked and opened the door. "May I talk to you Marshal?" She asked.

He looked up from his paperwork with surprise at seeing her there. He stood up and walked to her. He towered over her matronly figure, "Mrs. Roniger, Bessie, come in. What can I do for you?"

She swallowed nervously, "I was wondering, have you heard anything from Kitty?"

He winced; it was a flash then gone, resembling the pain from an old war wound after an unexpected jar. He looked away, shaking his head. "No." He glanced back at her with a glimmer of hope in his eyes, "Have you?"

"No."

His body sagged at her response making it all the harder to tell him what she knew. "Marshal, there's something … Kitty made me promise … I should have told you …"

"Here, sit down…" He told her, leading her to the chair by his desk. He wasn't sure he was up to another well meaning conversation about Kitty, but he knew Bessie had been hurt nearly as much as he by her abandonment. "I'll get you a cup of coffee."

"No coffee." she said and her vehemence startled him. She sucked in her courage, aware this was one of the hardest things she would ever have to do, "I know why Kitty left town, I had stopped by to see her the morning before. She'd been feeling poorly and I wanted to drop off some of my tonic for her. She described how she'd been and I told her … I said it sounded … it sounded to me …" Bessie bit her lip and glanced at the door like an outlaw planning to make a run for it.

"Just say it Bessie." Dillon ordered.

"… it sounded like she was going to have a baby." She blurted.

His heart seemed to stop before exploding in his chest. He shook his head trying to clear the bells and whistles, which were suddenly sounding off in his brain. His male mind made a frantic attempt to calculate calendar dates with times of the month and he came up short. They hadn't been together, not that way since three weeks before the Dog Soldiers. So long an absence, had been something he remembered.

Bessie was shaking now, her hands trembled and her lips quivered as she spoke, "She said the baby wasn't yours, she said those … men … animals is more like it … they..."

Dillon's hands balled into fists, the muscles in his neck, shoulders and arms became rigid. "She couldn't tell me?" He asked.

Bessie stood up. "She was afraid to hurt you more."

He was barely in control of his emotions, "So she left town to go through this alone?"

Mrs. Roniger nodded.

His hands fell hard to her shoulders and he gave her a shake. "Bessie, my God! Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"She made me promise …" The excuse sounded flimsy even to her own ears, so she repeated it hoping to give it strength. "She made me promise."

"Where is she?" He asked, knowing nothing could keep him from being with her now, knowing she needed him more than ever.

As hard as it was to tell him the reason for Kitty leaving, it was harder still to tell him she had no idea where she was. "I don't know."


	8. Chapter 8

(8)

Leaving Bessie behind he stormed from his office, pushing past Will Roniger waiting on the boardwalk. With his face set in stone he walked with determined strides down the street to Doc's office, nearly knocking over Nathan Burke who was deep in a political conversation with Mr. Lathrop. He took the stairs two at a time and burst into Adams office without the courtesy of a knock. Edsel Pry was sitting on the exam table her, prim shirtwaist unbuttoned allowing access to the doctor's stethoscope.

Moments earlier she'd been complaining to him, "I have been experiencing twinges and palpitations of my heart no doubt due to my delicate constitution." She shrieked at the sight of the lawman and made a frantic effort to cover her bosom. The fact her ancient breasts were concealed behind camisole, and binder did nothing to placate her offended sensibilities.

"Marshal Dillon!" She voiced indignantly, "How dare you! I'll have your badge for this!"

He'd put up with nearly twenty years of the old maid's bullying and as far as he was concerned if she wanted his job she could have it. Walking over to her he unpinned his badge and placed it with some force into the palm of her hand. "Take it, it's all yours."

For this once her palpitations were genuine, "Well, I never," she sputtered huffily, as Adams assisted her down from the exam table.

Dillon took a deep breath, attempting to regain his self-control. "Look Miss Pry, I'm sorry I've interrupted your visit, but you'll have to leave, I need to talk to Dr. Adams in private."

Taking full advantage of his advanced years, Adams reprimanded, "See here Matt …you can't just barge in and start ordering my patients around!" Miss Pry had hastily buttoned her blouse. She threw out her chest in the face of the physician. Her voice rose an octave, "Dr. Adams, I hold you personally responsible for this highly inappropriate invasion of my modesty, if you can't keep better control over the state of affairs in your own office, it shall be my obligatory duty to exercise my prerogatives in seeking medical attention elsewhere, moreover I shall not hasten to report this infraction to the Medical Ethics Board of the State of Kansas."

Bessie Roniger had exhausted any patience Matt Dillon had been graced with. The lawman's eyes narrowed to slits, he could have been forcing the most callous gunslinger to "get out of Dodge," from the inflection in his voice, "Miss Pry, I'm not asking you to leave, I'm ordering you to."

Adams was aware there had always been a dangerous edge to Matt Dillon; he couldn't have done his job all these years without it. Like the molten lava of a volcano it dwelt below surface and only because of faint rumblings was it apparent he was headed toward amajor eruption. Noting the deadly seriousness of Matt's voice, Doc put a guiding arm around the spinster and led her to the door. His voice spoke of appeasement, "Come along Miss Pry, I'm sure there's good reason for the Marshal's behavior. You run on home and put your feet up, and I'll stop by to see you in an hour or so."

"Humpf!" she snorted, "There is never an excuse for rudeness, you can be sure my friend State Senator Bartlett Huginslinger, will be hearing all about this." Adams opened the door for her. As she made her way through she remembered she still held the Marshal's badge in her hand, "Here." She said placing it Adams palm.

He kept an eye on the old woman making sure her exit was safe, when she was at the foot of the stairs he shut the door, and turned on Dillon, "Well that was an impressive demonstration," Adams scolded. "Good heavens Matt, what's wrong." The lawman's back was to Doc, his shoulders were hunched and his hands were shoved in his front pockets. Adams was reminded of a mountain lion ready to strike.

"Can it be true Doc?" Matt Dillon asked as he turned around giving the old man a chance to view the torment in his face.

"Can what be true?" He wasn't fond of word games and riddles, and this one was setting his own elderly heart to palpitate.

The younger man looked at the floor, his mind still reeling from the image Bessie had placed there. When he looked at the doctor again his eyes had returned to cold blue steel, "I just had a visit from Mrs. Roniger, she said the reason Kitty left town was because she was going to have a baby - a child fathered by the dog soldiers."

A gut punch couldn't have left Adams more staggered. He took a couple of swaying steps backward until his buttocks rested on his desktop. A whirlwind of memories flew thorough his mind, transporting his thoughts to that hot October day when her badly injured body had been carried by stretcher to this office and deposited on his exam table. She'd been closer to death than life and he knew no remedy he stored in his medicine cabinet could alter the course of her mortality. In spite of that knowledge, he valiantly plied his trade. His first course of treatment had been to extract the bullet, before surgically repairing the grave damage it had rendered. She'd gone into shock; her pulse becoming so irregular he feared he could not keep her alive long enough for Dillon to arrive and say his final good-bye. When all else seemed to be failing, he bowed his head in prayer, beseeching a merciful God to spare this innocent victim. As if in answer to that prayer Matt Dillon appeared, with her hand enclosed in his, he had forced his strength to fill her. Miracles, the old man had learned years before are often grounded in the power of love. She lived.

If it had been the rape alone his actions would have concentrated on that, the douche bag would have been employed. He'd have applied chemicals such as alum or sulfates of zinc to kill the attacker's sperm. As it was the doctor didn't feel he could put her through that degradation with everything else she'd endured. Considering her age and the length of time, which had passed since the assault he'd figured the risk of such action not equal to the possible consequences. He'd asked questions in follow-up, but had not examined her after the wounds had healed.

Dillon demanded an answer, "Is Bessie right?"

Adams moved to his chair and sat down hard. He set Matt's badge on the desktop and removed his glasses, an act, which sometimes allowed him to see a situation more clearly. He stared at his hands and the uselessness of them, he'd saved her life but to what avail?

The lawman took a step forward. "Doc, answer me, Damn it!"

The old man looked up but not at Dillon. On the upper shelf of his battered roll top desk was a photograph of the five of them, Newly, Festus, Matt, Kitty and himself. He'd looked at it often these last months since she'd been gone, as if in looking at it he could gain the answer to why she'd left. Now the answer was staring him in the face. He turned his head to reply. "Yes. It could be true."

Early on Matt Dillon had learned how to take an expected blow without flinching. "When?" He asked.

The old man shook his head, dividing dates from months, "October … she'd be due … July, the end of July …"

Dillon ran splayed fingers through his hair. "I've got to find her … do you have any idea where she'd go?"

Adams shook his head, he felt old, feeble, used up.

Matt's voice held the tension of a wire ready to snap; "I need your help Doc, think, where would she have gone?"

Doc covered his eyes with his hands, he closed them tight behind his fingers, forcing clear thought from his brain, finally his hand dropped and he looked at Dillon. "She wouldn't have stayed in Kansas, not if she wanted to keep this from us. She has friends all over …what about Claire Hollis?"

Dillon nodded, "I sent her a telegram months ago, and she said she hadn't heard from Kitty, but promised to let me know if she did."

"What about that gal from up north …she had an odd name …Melbourne wasn't it? Could she be hiding out there?"

Staring at one another they both realized the futility of this conversation; it mattered not, for he'd learned what he needed to know. "Like you said Doc she has friends all over, she could be almost anywhere." He made a move to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To find her."

"What about this?" Adams asked holding out the lawman's badge.

Matt Dillon gave a rueful shake of his head, as he stared at the worn-out piece of tin. He never should have put it back on after he'd taken it off in October, "Like I said once before Doc, if it was anything else."


	9. Chapter 9

**(9)**

John insisted she join him for dinner in the dining room. "A change of scene will do you good." He encouraged.

She couldn't stand looking in the mirror as the repulsive evidence of the crime against her body grew larger and larger. Nor could she tolerate the thought of anyone else seeing her, for the fact her womb housed the offspring of the Dog Soldiers filled her with shame. She couldn't explain this to Chapman; so much of what she was going through he couldn't seem to understand. So she merely and honestly replied, "John, I don't have anything to wear."

This was a truth Chapman could understand for even her nightgowns had grown tight and stretched to the limit across her ever expanding figure, "A situation easily remedied my dear." He called in a dressmaker to create several new gowns and shirtwaists to go with her advancing pregnancy.

As she regained some of her lost strength, he invited guests he felt she might be comfortable with. He selected those people who could stimulate her interest in life around her. Notably absent was Randolph Boudry, who since learning of her delicate condition had made himself scarce. Word was he had taken a riverboat to St. Louis and was again courting Annabelle. The disclosure of this news had been rewarded by one of Kitty's rare smiles. "That must make your sister very happy."

On several occasions Professor Pittlekow and his daughter Adelheide, who was also a physician had joined them. During those meals the talk inevitably turned to medicine and Kitty was left out of the discussion. She was not bothered by their absorption in their profession. In fact, she was glad to be relieved of the responsibility for polite conversation.

On their first meeting, Kitty had asked the younger woman if she, like her father specialized in the female reproductive system.

"No." Adelheide answered. Unlike the Professor her voice was more American than German, "I am a surgeon. Even in this day and age, people are reluctant to see a female doctor, but in my specialty more often than not, they have no choice if they need surgery to survive."

In an attempt at humor, John added, "Addie is a brilliant seamstress."

His efforts brought a grimace instead to the woman's no-nonsense features. "I think it highly shortsighted to equate to my skills as surgeon with that of a common hausfrau."

Oozing with Southern charm John Chapman replied, "My dear, I was paying you a compliment."

Kitty sensed the tension in the air between the two of them. Given the proper amount of kindling, sparks could fly. She gave Addie a closer look; her severely coifed hair, was dark blond, her bushy eyebrows were a straight line across her forehead. Her pale eyelashes almost non-existent, and her face showed not a glimmer of emotion when she spoke. It occurred to Kitty that it other days she would have taken the girl under her wing in an effort to feminize her. Now she was too weary to bother.

It always came as a release when the dinner party was over and John or Zebulon would assist her back up the stairs to the South bedroom.

GSGSGS

The rhythm of the drums echoed from Congo Square, the pounding keeping time with the flicker of the candle by her bedside table as it danced with the night music. The wind picked up and so did the pulsating beat, growing stronger, faster, harder, striving … seeking … building to a frantic crescendo until the climax was reached. In the momentary quiet the listener was left spent in its wake. Soon the beat began again.

Renee was going about her work quietly, tidying the bedroom thinking Kitty was asleep, for her form was so still beneath the covers. She wasn't. She had been remembering back to her childhood and a night like this when she had listened to the same pagan cadence. Her mother had told her to ignore the pounding when she'd asked about it. She'd shut the window against the cooling breezes, "Those are evil God-less sounds Kathleen, and you must make every effort not to listen." The next day she'd bought for the little girl a music box and when the drums played in Congo Square, her mother had wound the key so her daughter would have the pleasant tinkling tune to listen to instead of sensual tempo of the ritualistic beat.

Panacea Sikes had had a broader view when Kitty asked her a year or so later, "The colored folk say it's a call to the spirit world and the forces that rule it. To me it sounds like the beat of life. I like it … almost makes me want to go out there and dance with them."

Now all these years later she was asking questions again, "What is it they are doing down there?"

Renee turned to look at her, startled not by the nature of the question but by the question itself, for Madame had shown little interest in life outside Mayhaw since that night at the house on Dumaine Street in the Vieux Carre. "It is the mating dance … the Bamboula. Tonight they pay homage to Damballa, the Snake god who grants wishes good and evil."

Kitty looked at Renee with new eyes as she remembered an early conversation with the black woman on her first night at Mayhaw, "You said your Grandmother was Marie Laveau the Voodoo Queen."

"Oui … she was most powerful … her daughter … my tante, my Aunt has taken her place … she has much power as well."

Kitty propped herself on an elbow, "Do you believe in Voodoo?"

"Madame, as did my aieule, grand-mere, as did my maman and my tante, I attend Mass at the Cathedral of St. Louis."

"But … do you believe in voodoo."

Renee moved closer, she took Kitty's pillow and plumped it, "Madame Kit-tee, I believe there are more powers in heaven and earth then we in this life can understand. I believe there is good and evil in this world, just as there is black and white. I believe there is `gris', gray, which starts as neither good nor evil. I believe the spirits, which dwell in sky, trees, snakes and birds, grant us gifts. They give us the power to right wrongs, to heal, to love and be happy." She gave Kitty a gentle nudge so she was resting again on the pillow, "That is enough talking now, you must sleep for yourself and the bebe."

**GS GS GS GS**

"Are you up to a carriage ride?" John asked her several mornings later.

She shook her head, knowing there was no place she cared to visit.

"I think it would do you good my dear, it has been months since you've been out of this house." He went to the window and drew up the blinds revealing the early morning haze. "It looks like it is going to be a pleasant day and the ride will be short."

She gave a small smile and lifted a sardonic eyebrow, "It sounds like you've already made up my mind."

"I have, I'd like to take you to the orphanage at the convent, it will put your mind at ease to see the child will be taken care of after it is born." She was wearing a black gown, which ran in capacious pleats from her breasts to the hem. It was so large it would have allowed Kitty to double her present size and still have room to spare. She sat a little straighter in the rocking chair the exercise setting it in motion. "No need, I trust you."

Not taking `no' for an answer, he pulled a black shawl from her closet, "I'm glad to hear it. Trust me with this little trip as well."

Reluctantly, she acquiesced to his wishes with a downward sweep of her eyelashes. She pressed her hands on the arms of the chair and raised her body to stand. It took considerable effort, for her strength had still not returned. He watched her move toward him with the dignity and sadness of exiled royalty. Years of practice were not easily denied. Even in the face of despair, she held her head high and her shoulders back. Above average height in stature, she carried her pregnancy well with only slight traces of the bloating and puffiness that came to so many women. Her skin remained flawless, save for the faintly visible scar and the dark circles under her eyes betraying nights without the comfort of sleep.

He gently placed the cape upon her shoulders, "Come along my dear, Zebulon has the carriage waiting."

A frown creased her unwrinkled brow, "Why did you ask, if you weren't really giving me a choice?" she wondered aloud.

"Because my dear, I am a gentleman and a gentleman always asks a lady."

The convent was located on Dauphine St, on the lower edge of the city. Looking like a mythological castle fated to dwell in the clouds, the convent loomed upward from the low hanging fog. It was obviously an ancient building, or rather series of buildings, which had been added on to by each subsequent generation. The additions were reflected in a change in brick and style. A ten-foot wrought iron fence, decorated with gothic crosses and strange medieval fighting birds, guarded the outer courtyard. Chapman rang a bell at the gate.

A small, sallow skinned nun, shrouded by a habit of black serge falling in folds to the brick covered ground, approached them. Seeing the visitor was the doctor she nodded her veiled head in recognition. She removed a key ring attached to the leather cord at her waist and lifted an arm exposing voluminous sleeves.

"Sister Mary David," The doctor said as the nun opened the gate, "I believe Mother Superior is expecting us."

She spoke in a measured monotone, "Mother is in the nursery."

Locking the gate behind them, she bowed her head and indicated with her hand that they follow after her. Mammoth, carved cypress-wood doors lead into the damp stone convent. The only light was the ocher and crimson glow, which worked its way in through the vast panels of old-world, stained glass windows. She led them down a hallway into another inner courtyard; this one contained a small prayer garden depicting the Stations of the Cross. Walking the perimeter of the garden they came to another set of double doors. Sister Mary David opened them and stood back ushering Kitty and John Chapman in. They followed through a small maze of hallways and doors.

The walking in the muggy heat was making Kitty feel a bit light in the head and heavy on her feet. John noticed, "Are you alright?" He asked offering her his arm. She took it in answer. They marched down the final corridor, a muffled cry of an infant could be heard. The muted wail reverberated from stonewall to stonewall. Sister Mary David pushed open the door at the end of the hall and the sound came alive. The small dank windowless chamber revealed three rows containing three small identical cribs each. Eight were filled with infants younger than three months one lay empty. In the corner of the room stood the Mother Superior obviously praying over the inert form of the ninth child. Two other nuns were kneeling, their heads bowed, and rosary beads in their fingers. Sister Mary David excused herself and went to join them.

John Chapman bowed his head and closed his eyes in respect to Mother Superior, but Kitty kept hers wide open scanning the conditions the infants were housed in. Everything was immaculate, certainly cleaner than even Bessie Roniger's home. Each child was tightly wrapped in a snow-white flannel blanket. Most lay quietly staring at the ceiling but one little fellow close to her was screaming mad. His hands had worked their way out of the swaddling and he was waving his miniature fists in the air in protest. Kitty tried to ignore him hoping he would quiet on his own, but his face grew redder and his cries more exuberant. Afraid he was interrupting the prayer she went to the baby and picked him up. Immediately, the little one nestled in the curve of her feminine form, his crying slowed to a whimper as his mouth moved toward her bosom. She shifted him to her shoulder. She patted his bottom. A startling sensation of tenderness rushed through her; the result of foreign maternal emotions fueled by hormones she didn't even know existed.

She wasn't aware the prayers had stopped although in the back of her mind she did hear, "In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen."

"Put the infant down." Came a stern command from the nun in charge.

The perception may have been due to the wimple she wore, but her face seemed unusually long and she had a nose that took up more room than was proportionately ethical. Above her eyes were slashed two severe brows that were knit together at the center of her forehead. Her thin lips turned downward and she glared at Kitty with undisguised condescension.

Kitty looked up to see the four black clad women flocking toward her at a fast walk. "I said put the child down." Mother Superior reiterated, "We cannot afford to coddle these children, they must learn early on to discipline themselves."

"He was crying, I think he's hungry." Kitty explained.

"He will wait and be fed when the others are fed, he must learn that crying is not the answer to his problem." Unconsciously Kitty held the infant tighter, "But he's just a baby, he needs attention and affection." The nun tilted her chin upward, making it appear her long face was growing, "How many children have you raised Madame?" She asked haughtily.

"None … but…" Kitty started.

She pointed an arthritic finger at Kitty's protruding belly, "This one you carry, you do not wish to raise it either, pardon me for being blunt, but that hardly makes you an expert. This is a hard life, a life full of sorrow, the sooner these children learn that lesson the better off they will be. Now give me the infant." The baby was nuzzling into Kitty's shoulder rooting for love and nourishment. Kitty took a step backward. "The child …" The old nun held out her arms.

"I'm sorry, my friend has not been well, and she has recently suffered a great loss…" Chapman explained as he gently removed the babe from Kitty's arms and handed him to Mother Superior.

She took the child, not cradling the baby, but holding him out as though he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. In turn, she passed the baby off to one of her assistants who deposited him back in his crib.

"Come, we will talk." Mother Superior directed.

"No … no … I've seen enough." Kitty exclaimed breaking away from Chapman and running despite the burden of her pregnancy, out the room.

"Kitty." Chapman called as he ran after her.

When he caught up she said, "Get me out of here, just get me out of here."

They didn't say another word until the wrought iron gate clanked shut behind them. The warmth of the sun had burned away the fog, despite the heat, she shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, embracing her middle, "In spite of my feelings, I could never condemn this child to that kind of loveless existence."

John Chapman gave her a hard look, his intent was not to be unkind but to make Kitty see reality, "And if you keep the baby he will be sentenced to a life with a mother who hated him so much she wished him dead."


	10. Chapter 10

**(10)**

Dr. Chapman imagined in the vernacular of an old card sharp like Kitty Russell, his actions would have been termed as `playing a hunch'. He'd had a strong feeling what her response to the convent nursery would be. Any woman with an ounce of maternal instinct would find that cold unloving environment intolerable, but it was in reminding her of the failed abortion that he'd hit the nerve.

She had refused to come to both the dinner and supper table. The trays sent to her room were left untouched. Chapman's words had struck Kitty Russell hard; leaving her to curse herself and the hate filled legacy she was leaving this child.

John had spoken of a truth she could not deny. She'd gone to the Higgins house with the intention of killing her baby. Amazingly, she had never thought of it that way before. She had rationalized simply that this pregnancy was the product of a crime, forgetting in her hate, that she carried within her an infant who was innocent of any wrong doing.

Guilt was a heavy burden that did not allow for rest. She paced the perimeters of the four walls as though it were a courtroom, judging herself, and condemning the men who had altered her life so dramatically that it could never again be the same.

John had walked by her door several times that day, he'd lifted his arm to knock, but each time some intuition had stopped him. Deciding she needed to work things out on her own, Dr. Chapman had left her alone.

Months of wearing stoic armor had not hardened her soul sufficiently to bear grief and blame alone. More than anything that night she wanted Matt. The solace of his strong arms, the quiet of his loving voice whispering words of comfort to ease her heartache, this was the tonic she needed to heal. She needed him. But even as she wished he were with her, she was thankful he was not. What would he think of her? Dillon had little patience for cowards and sinners, and she, in her eyes was both.

She had no tears left to cry; yet she sobbed herself to a fitful sleep. It was in her dreams that she heard him calling her name; she ran after the sound of his voice searching through the halls of Mayhaw, opening doors, slamming them shut in a futile effort to find him. She called his name in return adding to the supplication, "Matt, I need you."

Chapman, with a cup of warm milk in one hand opened her bedroom door with the other. He stood for a moment listening, unsure if she was awake. The words she spoke were garbled and not plain to him at first. Moving to her bed, he asked her to repeat what she'd said, knowing those caught in the realm of sleep and wakefulness sometimes answered questions from the outside, "Matt …" she replied, "I need Matt." He'd promised not to call for Dillon unless she asked for him. In his mind, with the utterance of those words, she had now done just that.

She came to full wakefulness a short time later; the cup of milk at her bedside was still warm. Confused for a moment she wondered if Dillon had brought it for her. She said his name again, listening for his voice and the tread of his boot against hardwood. As she came to recognition of her surroundings she realized how impossible that would be. Finally, she rose from her bed and lit the candle at her dressing table. She sat in front of the mirror and watched her face in the flickering shadows, trying to find some semblance of the woman she used to be. Kitty Russell, brave of heart and gallant of spirit was gone, in her place sat an broken empty woman. As she often did she took the battered tin badge in her hand hoping it would provide some connection to courage.

The muffled beat of the drums of Congo Square filtered through the open window. She listened to song of the Bamboula, the beat of life. Renee's words came back to her, "I believe there are more powers in heaven and earth then we in this life can understand. I believe there is good and evil in this world, just as there is black and white. I believe there is `gris', gray, which starts as neither good nor evil. I believe the spirits, which dwell in sky, trees, snakes and birds grant us gifts. They give us the power to right wrongs, to heal, to love and be happy." A shadow of a smile cracked Kitty's hard features. Was she so far gone that she was ready to grasp at straws and believe in black magic and voodoo? Knowing the idea was completely alien to her logical businesslike mind did not stop her in pursuit of the thought.

It was the phrase regarding the _power to right wrongs, to heal, to love and be happy_, which echoed most plaintively in her mind. If only she could heal her heart enough to love this child, but in order to do that she would have to be able to forget how it was conceived. She didn't believe there was any magic, black or white strong enough to cast that spell.

**GS GS GS GS**

The whole of Dodge City had been abuzz with speculation as to the sudden reason for Dillon's departure. Doc Adams had been closed lipped when questioned. Festus Hagen had feigned ignorance, which in his case was not that great a leap. He, Newly and Sam had been advised only that Dillon had set out to find Kitty. An interim Marshal was holding court in the Front Street office; as a result Hagen was spending more and more time helping Hank at the stable. He didn't understand why Dillon had set off on his quest without him and he went about weighed down by a woeful sense of abandonment by both Matt Dillon and Kitty Russell.

Matt had left Dodge City two weeks before Dr. John Chapman's telegram arrived.

Wally at the telegraph office took the message. It seemed rather cryptic to him. He set it aside wondering what he should do with it. It had been addressed to Dillon, in care of the U.S. Marshal's office. Did that make it official business and now property of the new Marshal? When he came in from his lunch break, Wally showed the message to his boss, Barney. The old man had left his reading spectacles at home and was forced to hold the paper at arms length in order to read it. The message said simply, "She is here and asking for you."

He stuck the telegram in an envelope and said, "I'll take care of this; you mind the shop."

The younger man was tempted to tell his superior to go home and get his glasses while he was out but fingered wisely to keep his mouth shut. He watched from the window to see what direction Barney was headed. He lost sight of him as he rounded the corner of the dry goods store.

Adams had just come back from the Krause farm, having spent the last sixteen hours with young Leona Krause who had been in labor with her first child. It had been a successful night, leaving the elderly doctor dead tired. He'd been hoping for a reprieve from any major medical catastrophes for at least the next six hours. Barney's knock on the door elicited a grumpy, "Who is it?"

"Me Doc, Barney."

"Door's open," Doc called from the doorway of his bedroom, his suspenders were already hanging at his sides.

"Something came in Doc, it's for the Marshal, but since he's out of town, I figured maybe you should see it."

A scowl hit the old man's face as he read over the words, "When did this come in?"

"About a half hour ago, Wally took the message, he showed it to me when I got back from my dinner break, he was wondering if he should give it to Marshal Galway."

Adams had no idea where Dillon might be, the lawman had promised to let him know in case he needed to be reached, but so far no such messages had arrived. "Send a telegram back to Dr. Chapman, tell him I'll try to locate Matt. Ask her how she's doing."

"I'll do it Doc."

"And, Barney, let's just keep this between the two of us. I'd just as soon Wally not know."

"Yes sir."

A response came from Chapman later that day. It was brief. "Find Dillon, she needs him. Letter to follow."

If he'd been a younger man, with fewer responsibilities, Doc would have left Dodge to find Matt or traveled to New Orleans himself to be with Kitty. It was hard for him to admit he could do neither. With only a little thought he decided the best man to track Matt down was Festus. He sought him out and found him at the Long Branch commiserating, with Halligan over a glass of warm beer. "I need to talk to you up in my office." He requested before turning on heel and walking back out of the saloon.

Slightly miffed Hagen finished off his beer in one final gulp and then followed the old man out of the saloon.

"What in blue blazes is this here all about Doc, I done spent my last nickel on that there beer and you didn't even give me no time to enjoy it."

"Festus, I want you to take a little trip."

"Where'd you like me to go?"

It was a loaded question and one Doc would have gleefully answered on many another occasion, today there was no jest in the old man's voice, "I want you to track down Matt."

Peeved by the notion Hagen replied, "Golly Bill, Doc, I ain't got no ide-e where he hightailed it off to. He just up and left and didn't take no nevermind what anyone else was a-thinking."

"Festus, I've heard you say no one can track better than a Hagen, well this is your chance to prove it."

Hagen squinted his left eye and stared the doctor down with his right, "How come you want me to go a trackin Matthew now, when just a week ago you said it weren't none of my business."

"Miss Kitty's in New Orleans; she's in trouble and needs Matt."

Both of the hillman's eyeballs bulged for a moment, "I'll do it Doc, you know I'd do anything fer Miss Kitty and Ole Matthew."

"I know you would." Doc replied. He picked up a slip of paper on which were written several names and addresses, "I want you to take the train to St. Louis. I believe that's where Matt would have headed. Two weeks head start, that's where he should be by now… Ask questions along the way, maybe someone saw him and knows where he is. Once you get to St. Louis I want you to look up some old friends of both Matt and Kitty's. I've got their names written down here, you just show this to the cab driver and he can take you to them. Send me a telegram as soon as you know something."

Hagen nodded before a woebegone expression took control of his face, "Doc I ain't got no money fer train ridin."

Forgetting his miserly reputation, Doc reached into his back pocket and pulled out his coin purse, and withdrew several gold pieces. Festus looked at the money for a moment before taking it with a nod of his head. He was on the afternoon train, outfitted in his dress shirt and clean pants, shined up boots and an old hat of Doc's, so he would look, in his own words, "Citified." Doc had no illusions Festus would find Dillon, but he had a need to feel he was doing something and his friend was ready to oblige.


	11. Chapter 11

**(11)**

She had come to a turning point that night. The bastard off spring of the Dog Soldiers was growing closer and closer to life, she realized she was powerless to stop the process. Good or evil the child would be born. Logic told her if she were another woman asking for her advise, Kitty Russell would have spoken about the fallacy of such a thing as `bad blood.' A good home, and loving environment had much more to do with the way a child turned out than who the parents were. Perhaps it was the badge she'd held so tightly to for courage, or her own deep inner strength, but that night she bravely accepted reality and set about to find a way to live it.

She had dressed early before Renee came to her room to help her. She'd done her hair in curls and coils and applied enough face paint to make her cheeks and lips bloom and her auburn lashes darkly frame her blue eyes.

She'd surprised John Chapman when she appeared at the table for breakfast. "Well, don't you look pretty today Miss Kitty."

"Do I?" She asked coyly in reply.

He studied her suspiciously, "What are you up to?"

She took a breath and squared her shoulders, "I have two months until this child is born. It seems impossible that the time is growing so near. I think it is time I start making some preparations. I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I asked Zebulon to drive me around town today to see if there is a property suitable for my needs."

If he was surprised by the unspoken presumption she was keeping the baby he hid it from her. He chose instead to question her safety, "I don't know Kitty. I'm not fond of the idea of you riding around on these bumpy cobblestones."

Her coy smile held an edge; "You weren't worried about it yesterday."

"Yesterday was… different."

"Umm yeah, I figured that. John. Look … I have accepted the fact this child is going to be born and it is my responsibility to see it is well provided for."

"You can stay here Kitty for as long as you like … "

"I know I can John, but that isn't fair to you … I have a feeling if it weren't for me being here, you would have made a move on Addie Pittlekow long before now."

He smiled in answer. His eyes lengthened as he looked at her, there was something going on in her clever mind, but he couldn't put a finger on it, "I can see you are determined, I will leave Zeb at your disposal. You will of course take Renee with you as well."

"Of course." She answered.

**GS GS GS GS**

Renee thought she must be hearing wrong, "Pardon … Madam you wish to go where?"

"To your Aunt's." Kitty repeated, "I wish to seek the services of the Voodoo Queen."

Zebulon voiced his disapproval when she stepped into the carriage and gave him the orders, "Madame you have no business going there. There is no telling what kind of black _magick_ that woman will conjure up."

"Now Zeb, what harm can come to me with you along?"

His baritone voice hit an all time low, "I don't like this." He said shutting the carriage door.

They drove past Congo Square; the field was all but deserted in the light of day and on to the Gaubourg Margeny to North Rampart Street. Zeb pulled the team to a stop in front of a one story small wood sided home, of mid-century shotgun architecture. Typical of the design it was a narrow rectangular building on raised brick piers. There was a narrow front porch covered by a roof apron, supported by columns bracketed by Victorian gingerbread. Other than the brightly colored paint job of varying hues of purples and oranges it was neat and tidy. It looked anything but sinister.

The scowl on Zeb's face spoke more eloquently than any words of disapproval he could voice. He helped her from the carriage and supported her arm as she climbed the steps of the porch.

"Are you sure Madame Kit-tee?" Renee asked as she prepared to knock.

"Oh for Pete's sake Renee, I'm not some fragile teacup belle and yes I'm sure." Kitty replied as she herself rapped her knuckles against the vibrantly painted door.

A thin-framed black man answered, like some character from Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves; he wore a lavender tunic and a white turban. There were many chains with unusual symbols hanging from his neck and gold earrings hooped in his ears. His skin had an unnatural pallor to it, despite its dark color. His eyes neither sought nor found contact with theirs and he walked about as if in a trance.

"Batooka, I have brought a friend to see my Tante, would you let her know we are here?"

His head bobbed once, "Sit." He replied.

Renee rolled her eyeballs at Kitty before replying to the servant, "Thank you." She grabbed Kitty's hand and pulled her into the parlor.

"What's wrong with him?" Kitty whispered as Batooka went to find Tante Marie.

She shrugged her shoulders and replied in a straight forward fashion, "He is a _zombie_, he has a spell cast upon him."

Kitty stretched her neck to see if Batooka was still within her line of vision, "I've heard of them before, but I've never seen one."

"He was condemned to death by zee Congo Court for an unspeakable act. Tante Marie reprieve him, by sentencing him to be her _zombie_ servant. Now, are you still so sure you want to zee _Voudon_ Queen?"

The child within gave a hearty kick, "Yes." Kitty answered.

She settled back in her chair and took a good look at her surroundings. The parlor was decorated in varying shades of purple, from the plush velvet settee they sat on to the walls, which were a darker tint. The pictures decorating the room looked to be Catholic, the main subject of the artwork being crucifixes and blessed virgins. Candles and strange incense burned at a makeshift altar. Scattered throughout the room were receptacles of Holy Water.

They waited ten minutes before Queen Marie appeared at the doorway. She was taller than Renee who was a tall woman. Kitty estimated her height to be close to six feet. Her face was beautiful and her magnificent figure was draped in a gown of silk and satin, all black and shiny. She held out her arms to Renee. Her voice was soft and lyrical like a lullaby. "My Little One, I am so happy you have come to visit. We have missed you at the dance."

"I have zee job which keeps me busy Tante. I have brought a friend with me, she in need of your advice."

The woman moved toward Kitty and held out her hands. Kitty took them and Marie pulled her to stand. The reigning Voodoo Queen narrowed her eyes, looking deeply into Kitty's own. The power was enough to mesmerize. "You are seeking a love potion?"

"Yes."

"But … not the usual kind I am thinking … come with me Lamb." She said, leading Kitty out of the room through a curtained archway. When Renee made a move to follow Marie commanded. "Stay."

The room was painted so dark a purple it was nearly black. Small colored candles flickered from the hanging sconces. Carved sculptures of snakes and birds rested against the bureau, which ran the length of one wall. In the middle of the room sat a table covered by orange satin upon which sat an empty candelabra, a large wooden container which resembled a spice box and several smaller jars.

"Sit." She ordered Kitty as she herself took one of the four chairs. "Lamb, tell me what you seek."

"I seek a potion which will make me love the child I carry so that I may do right by it."

"To love the child Lamb, love the father."

Her voice sounded calmer than she would have thought possible. "I cannot do that. I don't even know who the father was. I was raped by many men."

The two women stared at one another, and for an instant it was like looking in a mirror as Kitty saw her pain reflected in Marie's eyes. The Voodoo Queen reached out to touch Kitty's hand, "But there is a man you love?"

She didn't hesitate with her answer, "Yes."

"Good, then we have a place to start. Tell me, this man you care about, his _mojo_ is strong?"

"Yes."

"That is good, we will need strong _Magick_."

Marie stood and took three candles from the wall sconces and brought them to the table placing them in the small candelabra resting there. ""First we shall summon the _Loa_ by the candle. The pink candle is for love, honor, and gentleness. The purple candle it to fight and protect against the power of evil, and the green to bring a balance between the two." From an intricately carved gourd to her left she took a handful of cornmeal and sprinkled it on the table and began drawing designs with her fingers.

"In New Orleans, the Catholic Church and the _Voudon_ are bound together, as the "Church" so do we believe in one God, we believe we each have a soul, _gros-bon-ange _and as the `Church' looks to the Saints to offer guidance and protection so do we look to the seven African Powers."

"_Papa Legba_, St. Michael or St. Peter, the guardian and the opener."

"_Obatala_, Our Lady of Mercy who rules the clouds."

"_Yemaya_, Mary the Mother of God, rules the ocean. Her colors are blue and white, her foods, cornmeal, molasses and watermelon. She nurtures maternal energy."

"_Oya_, St. Theresa, ruler of the winds, her colors are red, brown, purple and orange. She can effect great change."

"_Oshun_, Mother of Charity, she rules love and fertility, her colors are yellow and green and her favorite food is pumpkin and French pastry."

"_Chango_, St. Jerome, whom we honor with the fire dance, rules sky, trees and lightening."

"And _Ojun_, who rules iron and deep woods."

She rose from the table and took a small red flannel bag and thread of black yarn from the bureau drawer. As she sat down again she explained the bags purpose, "this is _Gris-Gris_, which comes from the French word Gris, which means gray, a mixture of black and white. We fill it with _Wanga_, roots and herbs mixed with powerful ingredients and anointed with Holy oils."

"For you my Lamb, we will call to _Yemaya_ to fill you with the love of a mother, so you may love your child without condition without judgment." She opened a drawer from the spice box and removed two watermelon seeds, as well as a small piece of blue and white gingham and placed them in the bag. "We will call to _Oshun_, that she may bring you love in its purest form." She placed two pumpkin seeds in the _Gris-Gris _and a swatch of yellow and green, "And lastly we will call to _Oya _who rules the winds and can bring change to your life and heart." She placed pieces of paper colored in red, brown purple and orange in the cloth bag. She bowed her head and began speaking in a low voice, mumbling words Kitty couldn't understand, when she was finished she made the sign of the cross.

She began opening and closing the many drawers of the chest on the table taking out a sprinkle of this and another of that, "Tansy Herb, to honor the Mother of the Christ child. Colts Foot leaves to give your heart peace and tranquility. Agrimony, to overcome and banish bad memories and evil spirits. Black Cohosh Root, to give strength to your courage. Cardamon Seed to open your heart to love. Goats Rue Herb, for healing, Mustard Seed for faith, Raspberry leaves to protect the child in its journey to life."

Looking to Kitty she said, "I will need something of the man you love, the one you would wish to have been the father of this child; hair, fingernail …"

Kitty shook her head, "That's impossible … he lives hundreds of miles away …"

The Voodoo Queen looked doubtful, "For the _Magick_ to work …"

Suddenly remembering, she carried her own talisman of luck in her handbag Kitty said, "Wait …" She opened her purse and pulled out the badge. "His blood was on this badge. I never washed it off. It just wore off."

Marie took the offering. Holding it tight in her own hand, she closed her eyes and remained motionless for a heartbeat before opening them again. She smiled, "This will work well, I feel his power, it is very strong." She handed Kitty a scissor shaped like a bird, "Cut off a lock of your hair long enough to tie around this token." When that was accomplished the badge was placed in the _Gris-Gris_. She tied the sack with the black yarn, and then sprinkled it with more oils.

"I call upon the _loa_ to replace hate with love and unite love with heart. As was so, is so and shall evermore be so, one with God and God with one."

To Kitty she said, "Open up your dress and place the _Gris-Gris_ on your left side next to the baby. Do not open the bag, do not let anyone else touch it or the _Magick_ will be lost." She waited until Kitty had done as she was told before she continued with the rest of the spell. "You must go to the Cathedral of St Louis every morning at 8:00 to the Chapel of the Holy Mother and say ten Hail Mary's."

"But … I'm not Catholic, I don't know how to say the Hail Mary."

From the bureau drawer she removed a Holy Card and Rosary beads and placed the items in Kitty's hand," This will guide you." She leaned over and placed a kiss on Kitty's cheeks first one and then the other. "See in your mind the way you would have things be, believe in your heart it is so, and it shall be so."

She'd felt foolish in coming there, and she felt foolish in leaving, but while she had been there she had believed. For a brief span in time she had felt certain things would work out. Renee was still waiting in the front parlor. She smiled with bright eyes, and looped an arm around Kitty, "Tante Marie is very powerful, yes?"

"Yes."


	12. Chapter 12

**12**

Back in the carriage she instructed Zebulon to take her to the real estate agent's office. She had meant in part what she'd told John that morning. It was time to prepare for what was to come. Pierre Remmel was a lawyer by trade who made spare change selling properties for his wealthy clients. He was most solicitous to Kitty.

"I have a business to sell, and when that is complete I will have around 25,000.00 at my disposal."

"I can show you several properties Madam." He replied. The remainder of the morning was spent with Remmel as he showed her lovely homes he felt might suit her needs.

She mentioned Pierre Remmel to John that night at the supper table. "My dear, I personally feel this is a foolish idea, and I can tick off the reasons on my five fingers, but you are a smart woman and already know that. As a physician I must insist you conserve your strength." He smiled and added, "You're not a spring chicken you know."

She ignored his remark. "I'd like to prevail upon you to use Zeb's services again tomorrow morning."

"Where to this time?"

"The Cathedral of St Louis, I need to be there by 8:00 AM." 

**GS GS GS GS**

If John Chapman found it odd that the saloon owner had suddenly found religion he didn't mention it. To allow her Zebulon's services he himself went to work an hour earlier than usual.

The church was empty when she arrived there at 8:00 AM, the participants of the six o'clock mass had already departed and those coming to a later service had not yet arrived. A middle-aged priest, draped in sacramental robes was walking through the narthex and Kitty stopped him to ask directions, "Could you direct me to the chapel of the Holy Mother."

He had a nice smile, "Through those far doors my child." He replied. Her footsteps resonated against the marble floors, as did the sound of the door when she opened it and let it fall shut. Unsure of her self she made her way to the front of the little chapel. There was one other woman there, kneeling at her pew with beads in hand. Her lips moved but the sound of her voice was absent. Deciding to use this woman as a guide, Kitty sat behind and to the side of her. Awkwardly she removed her rosary from its case, and took out the Holy Card with the prayer written on it from her pocket.

It seemed a strange procedure, but she made an attempt to work both the words and the beads, while keeping an eye on the woman ahead of her. At intervals that lady made the sign of the cross and Kitty tried to follow. Eventually she'd gone through the entire procedure ten times. The lady in front of her had left when she was halfway through. Kitty thought she was alone. As she was about to leave the Priest she'd talked to earlier came to kneel beside her. He folded his hands atop the pew ahead of them.

"Might I presume Madam you are another of our converts from Mam'zelle Marie?"

"I'm that obvious?"

"Let's just say you don't seem completely comfortable with our form of prayer."

"It does feel a little mindless and certainly repetitive."

"It's purpose it to allow the soul to meditate on the great mysteries of the Holy Word."

"I imagine I will get the hang of it." Kitty replied.

The priest was quiet in thought for a little bit and Kitty wasn't sure what she should do, she bowed her head again, not praying but waiting to see if the Holy man would say anything else. He did, "My guess, this is part of a love spell … is that right?"

Kitty nodded her head.

"Might I make a suggestion?"

"Sure."

"While I would never want to do anything to discourage someone from praying the Rosary, it might be more helpful if you were to incorporate a Bible passage into your prayer."

"Really?"

"You know of St. Paul?"

"A little …" she replied vaguely.

"St. Paul was a great missionary, the greatest to ever live, he went to the far corners of the ancient world starting churches in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. He established a great many congregations. As sometimes happens within the churches, even today power struggles began and it seemed to Paul his flocks were losing sight of the greater work of God. Paul began writing letters to his churches offering words of wisdom; these letters or epistles have formed the earliest books of the New Testament, Romans, Corinthians I and 2, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, Thessalonians 1 and 2, Timothy 1 and 2, Titus, Philemon and Hebrews. I believe you will find 1 Corinthians 13 vs. 1-13 to be of comfort to you. Do you have a Bible?"

Remembering the black book, which rested on a small shelf in her room, she nodded her head.

"Good." He replied. "As I said, St Paul's advise might apply to your problem. Tomorrow when you come, I shall pray the Rosary with you if you would like."

"I'd like that fine Father." She afternoon during the heat of the day she retired to her room with the premise of taking a rest. She found the Bible and with much difficulty located the chapter and verses the Priest had told her about.

(_1 Cor. 13:1-13)__**1**__ If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but do not have love, I have become a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. __**2**__ And if I have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge; and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. __**3**__ And if I give all my possessions to feed the poor, and if I deliver my body to be burned, but do not have love, it profits me nothing.__**4 Love is patient, love is kind, and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, 5 does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, 6 does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; 7 love bears all things, love believes all things, love hopes all things, love endures all things. 8 Love never fails; **__but if there are gifts of prophecy, they will be done away; if there are tongues, they will cease; if there is knowledge, it will be done away. __**9**__ For we know in part, and we prophesy in part; __**10**__ but when the perfect comes, the partial will be done away.__**11**__ When I was a child, I used to speak as a child, think as a child, reason as a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. 12 For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I shall know fully just as I also have been fully known. __**13 **__**But now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.**_

Kitty thought of Matt as her eyes traveled across the words, "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." Resentment narrowed her eyes and forced her heart to quicken its beat in anger. She slammed the book shut. `How dare St. Paul make such a pious proclamation!' She held no doubt there were some things love could not bear, could not endure. Suddenly she hated St. Paul, she hated the Priest and she hated anyone stupid enough to believe those words. She took the book and flung it against the wall. Tears filled her eyes; and she fell to her knees sobbing, crying for all she had lost and all that could never be.

She thought twice about returning to the Cathedral the next morning for her resentment of the Priest and his message had not lessened. She rationalized her decision to return fell under the requirements of Marie Laveau's `love spell'.

The priest was waiting for her; he had changed from his sacramental robes and was dressed in a black suit and liturgical collar. She scowled at him and he shrunk back for a moment before asserting his usual calm demeanor. He noticed along with the scowl her eyes were red and her skin blotchy, marking a tear filled night.

"My child, I'm glad to see you have returned. Might I ask? Did you read the passage I mentioned to you yesterday?"

She tilted her chin defiantly, "Yes, I did, and I came to the conclusion St Paul didn't know what he was talking about. Believe me Father, there are some circumstances even love can't cure."

"St. Paul would argue that point. But you have the right to believe as you choose. Come, I will show you how to pray the Rosary."

She was in the mood to argue, but the priest showed no inclination to do so, he kept his kind voice calm as he gently instructed her in the use of the beads in keeping track of the `Hail Marys".

When they had finished he invited her to stay for Mass, which she declined.

"No thank you father, that wasn't part of the deal."

"I understand. Marie has sent many of her … shall we say love clients our way. I'm never sure if she is trying to appease her own soul or offer the solace of God's forgiveness to others. But the Lord works in strange and mysterious ways, his wonders to perform." He looked at her with gentle eyes that acknowledged the torment she was in, "Might I just remind you what St. Paul said, "now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love. Keep faith my child, live in hope and believe in the power of love."

She nodded her head, tired of his Holy rhetoric, "Thank you, you needn't feel you must pray with me tomorrow, I think I've got the hang of it."

He realized she'd dismissed him and his services, but he stopped her from moving away so quickly, he raised his hand and began making the sign of the cross, "The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD lift up His Countenance upon you and give you peace. In the name of the Father, and the Son and the Holy Ghost."

She gave him a long look searching seeking the peace he'd spoken of. It was lost to her. She could only lower her head and walk away. She did not seek him out again. Nor did she notice him watching her every day from the back of the chapel, his lips moving in a silent prayer.


	13. Chapter 13

**13**

The late spring temperatures of the New Orleans subtropical latitude were brutal. The searing days and sultry nights took on the form of an all-embracing steam, which sapped from Kitty every ounce of spare energy. The effort to dress and brave the crushing heat for the Cathedral exerted its toll. Both John Chapman and Professor Pittlekow suggested it was time to stop her visits. But caught as she was in the power of Marie Laveau's spell she had not the will to do so. With each visit she began to feel a tentative reconciliation when she entered the church. The words of the Hail Mary, so monotonous to her ears, brought a calming peace. Over a time the hate in her heart waned. However, it brought no acceptance of her plight nor did it bring the desire to bond with the bastard baby she carried.

For the most part, she had given up thoughts of Matt Dillon and the future they might have had together. Only in her weakest of moments did her memories drift to him. She acknowledged she could never return to Dodge City, for she could never again be the woman she once was. Her soul piercing wounds were too numerous and too deep to ever completely heal. She went through these days as one walking across a vast desert, blindly putting one foot in front of the other, crying silently for deliverance.

**GS GS GS GS**

It was on an afternoon in late May, that Addie Pittlekow sought out Kitty's guidance. She and her father were invited for dinner that evening. After a perfunctory exam of her condition the Professor retired to Chapman's study for the two men to discuss a problem they were having with the administration at St Catherine's. Addie had declined the invitation to join them and instead had opted to talk with Kitty.

She'd rapped her knuckles almost timidly against the red head's door, "Frau Russell," she said when Kitty answered the knock, "I hope you don't mind, but I vas wondering if you might help me with something?"

"Me? Help you?"

"Ja …" The German woman lowered her head and pursed her lips.

"Come in, please." She encouraged. It had been a while since anyone had sought her advice. It was a welcomed change from her self-absorbed world, "Sit down." Kitty offered while gingerly lowering herself to the rocking chair, "Tell me what I can do to help."

Adelheide Pittlekow took a seat in a straight-backed chair across from Kitty, "First before I continue, und pardon me for asking, but is there anything between you und John Chapman?"

Kitty shifted her weight in the chair; it was impossible to find a comfortable position, "We are good friends. I don't know what I'd have done without him these last months."

Addie's shoulders went slack as the air deflated in her lungs.

An understanding glow warmed Kitty's eyes. "But if you are asking if there is a romantic interest between the two of us, no, we are friends, good friends and I will love him forever for being that."

Addie swallowed hard and pressed her hand against an invisible wrinkle in her skirt. Her words came out soft and Kitty had to bend forward to hear them, "I vas wondering if you could help me, you are so beautiful und you know how to vear your hair … und… you move like the dancer, graceful."

This wasn't the first time Kitty'd heard the request, and she graciously helped the other woman finish her thought, "and I paint my face?"

Her confidence waning, Addie's German accent seemed more pronounced, "Ja … but in a good vay, not like a bad voman, like a beautiful lady."

Kitty suppressed a wry smile, these last scorching days she'd grown puffy from her face down to her ankles. Her movements had turned to an awkward splayed legged shuffle as she tried to maneuver her heavy load. But she sensed the sincerity and desperation coming from the female doctor. "You'd like me to help make John Chapman notice you?"

"Ja, yes." Addie brightened with hope.

Using her arms Kitty pushed her weight out of the rocking chair and motioned for Addie to take a seat at the dressing table. Standing behind her she studied the reflection in the mirror. "You have lovely eyes, clear skin and beautiful hair, but everything is so stiff,severe, men like softness. Your eyelashes need darkening to frame your eyes and your eyebrows … well they shouldn't grow in one line across your forehead." She took a tweezers from her beauty case, and began to pluck at the overgrowth.

"Ouch!" Addie exclaimed pulling back.

Kitty steadied her with a hand to the shoulder, "Beauty has a price."

When she had cleared away an arch and pathway, she turned to Addie's harsh hairstyle. "Now this looks painful." She eased out the pins letting the dark blond hair fall to her shoulders. "Remember, softer is better, at least when you are trying to get a man to notice you." She did the doctor's hair in a style similar to the one she'd worn back in Dodge. She opened another case revealing face paint and kohl and showed her how to apply the faintest tint to highlight her natural good looks. When that was accomplished Kitty offered her own Irish lace collar to decorate the neckline of Addie's plain dark dress, and a pair of pearl earbobs, "to add light and movement to your face." Kitty explained. "It's like fishing with a shiny lure."

Addie looked back at her reflection, and smiled. "Ja, he will notice me now. Danke schon, thank you."

"You are most welcomed. Shall we go down to dinner and see what John thinks of the change."

Chapman didn't notice at first, he was so used to Adelheide Pittlekow's usual appearance that he didn't bother to study her now. It came as a shock when he looked up and saw the transformation. He did a comical double take, blinking his eyes as though they were seeing a vision. Kitty caught sight of the Professor taking in the revelation. He winked at Kitty in a way that reminded her of Doc, and reminded her just how far from home she was.

In the matter of just a few days the pair had become a couple. Addie confided to Kitty that she'd been in love with Chapman since she had first met him as a young girl. She had become a doctor not only in an effort to emulate her father but to be closer to John. Her plan hadn't materialized as she'd hoped for he never seemed to notice her as a woman only as a colleague.

"I wouldn't be surprised to see the two of you married one day soon." Kitty said on an afternoon a week later as she was trying out a new hairstyle on Adelheide. The baby kicked and Kitty grimaced. Addie noticed her reflection change in the mirror.

"You have had a difficult confinement Frau Russell. I cannot imagine how hard it was to lose your husband at a time like this, but soon you will have your baby and the child's father will live on."

Kitty stepped back, "I thought you knew, I thought John would have told you, surely your father suspects the truth…"

Addie swiveled around in her chair, "The truth of what?"

Color slipped from Kitty's face, "I'm not married, I never was …"

Addie stood and moved swiftly to Kitty, "but…"

She shook her head slowly from side to side, "Addie … I was raped. I left my home, my business… I left my … friends … to come here so they wouldn't have to see me like this …" Abruptly, Kitty turned her back to the other woman, valiantly trying to control her emotions.

"What of the child? After it is born, will you return to your friends?"

"I don't know what will become of the child… I don't know what will become of me." She was quiet for a moment and Addie watched her square her shoulders before turning to face her. When she did it was with a smile pasted in place, "Your hair looks fine, go find John."

Addie opened her mouth to say something further, but Kitty had turned her back again. Realizing she'd been dismissed the doctor left the room, her head filled with unanswered questions and her heart filled with pity.

GS GS GS GS GS

Addie Pittlekow stood helplessly by as Chapman paced his office, rereading a telegram he'd received earlier that afternoon, "Come immediately your sister gravely ill."

His voice was a fusion of concern and doubt, "This wouldn't be the first time Annabelle has used sickness as a ploy to regain my good graces. She's always been a skillful faker, with just enough of a heart condition to make her believable."

Addie put a hand on his arm holding him in place, "John, you have no choice in de matter, if there is any chance your sister is seriously ill you'd never forgive yourself for not being there to support und comfort her."

"You're right of course. It's just this is a bad time to be going anywhere. Kitty is in the last six weeks of her pregnancy. Her mental and physical health are being held together by a thread of self-will."

"Didn't you say you were sure her friend would be coming here to find her soon?" Addie reminded him. John had confided to her that just the other day he'd received a telegram from Doc Adams stating Festus Hagen was tracking Matt Dillon down, apparently following a lead the lawman was now in St Joe. He had to figure Dillon by process of elimination would show up in New Orleans in the next couple weeks. It was that thought which swayed his decision.

Chapman nodded and smiled at Addie, "You're saying I should take care of Annabelle now and Kitty later."

Boldly she tightened her hold on his arm until he pulled her into an embrace, she looked up into his face, "Papa vill keep a close eye on her und if it makes you feel better, so will I."

Kitty concurred when he discussed the situation with her, "I'm fine John, really. I know you're worried about your sister, please go to her, she needs you."

So on the 20th day of June, he packed up his bags and took the train North to St. Louis. With the promise of Professor Pittlekow that the minute Kitty's condition changed he would send a telegram alerting Chapman to that fact. Later that day Pittlekow stopped by to examine Kitty. She lay on the bed clothed in a dressing gown. He waited for her to move the _Gris-Gris _out of his way; aware he was not allowed to touch it. He measured the growth of the child, "De baby is high," he said, "und he has not turned, ve vill hope dat he changes position before it is time for him to be born." Professor frowned and thoughtfully fingered his beard. "Next veek, you vill stop by my office to see me, I vant to do complete exam, ve vill vatch you very close de last four weeks."

She nodded, and swallowed down the anxious feeling of being trapped in a runaway carriage. The Professor patted her hand, "It vill be fine, you are not to worry. However, with John gone, I may decide to keep you in de hospital for the last weeks of your confinement. If you notice any change you are to summon me immediately."

Kitty knew something about the last stages of pregnancy, she'd been around for Bessie and that experience had made her an old hand. Doc had in fact called upon her several times to assist him in deliveries. She'd always thought it odd and she was sure Doc's patients had too, that she an unmarried business woman in a less than noble profession, should assist these chaste women in bringing life to the world.

Her back hurt, but she didn't mention it to the Professor. She was afraid any hint of a problem and she'd end up a patient at St. Catherine's. If that happened, she knew she would surely go mad.

**GS GS GS GS GS**

Matt Dillon had been searching for her for weeks, stopping at every train station and two-bit town along the way. He'd received several leads but none had panned out. Following a vague tip from a train porter in St Louis, he'd headed to St. Joseph, Missouri. He'd been there for over a week, the trail, which had started out to be so promising, had turned unexpectedly cold. He was running out of ideas.

He stood, a lonely cowboy figure trapped within a crowd of urban passengers in front of a puffing steam engine, waiting to board the Great Northern for Chicago. His nostrils burned from coal smoke and creosote and he could feel the residue settle on his skin. He squinted his eyes as a scowl deepened the lines on his face.

Had the timing been one iota off, Hagen would never have seen Matt Dillon at the busy depot. "Matthew." He shouted running against a throng of travelers, keeping his eyes on the sweat stained Stetson, which loomed above the crowd ahead of him. Dillon turned around, thinking for a moment he was hearing things, the horde pushed past him grumbling that he was blocking their way.

"Festus? What are you doing here?" he asked when Hagen had caught up to him.

"Doc done sent me to find you, I know where Miss Kitty is."

Matt's carpet bag slipped from his hand and he grabbed the shoulders of his friend for support, his voice was a mixture of hope and desperation, "Where is she?"

It was Hagen who encouraged him to move away from the crowd. The whistle of the train blew and the locomotive began pulling away from the station, Festus had to shout to be heard above the roar, "Doc got a telegram from Dr. Chapman, she's in New Orleans."


	14. Chapter 14

**14**

On the June 22nd, Renee came to Kitty's room with a note from her Aunt, Marie Laveau; it encouraged her to be part of the St. John's Eve Ritual the following evening. The letter read; "It is said the ghost of my mother, who was the first Marie Laveau comes back on St John's Eve, she will grant the wishes of all who believe in the _Magick_."

In old Europe, midsummer was a fire festival, a pagan celebration of the longest day of the year. It was an observance full of the promise of the harvest and to honor the Sun King before he gave up his rule to the darkness. Barrels were set a blaze and rolled down hillsides to represent the sun. Huge bonfires were lit and folks danced around them and feasted on elaborate banquets.

Falling near the time of the summer solstice, St John's Eve became the Christian alternative to the pagan custom. Known as the summer Christmas, St. John's Day celebrates the birth of John the Baptist. The bonfires to the pagan gods became the Fires of St. John. The world of New Orleans voodoo assimilated both pagan and religious symbolism into a ceremonial _Magick_.

Zebulon strongly objected when she told him the next morning on their way to the Cathedral, that she wished to take part in the midsummer ritual. "It is no place for a white lady."

She stomped her foot, for she was in no mood to be crossed. "That's not true! Renee says there are a lot of white people there."

"Yes, those who are curious, but not those who were blessed with a rational brain and not those who are within weeks of giving birth to a child."

Trying a different tact, she smiled at him and caused her voice to purr. "What harm can come to me Zeb? You'll be with me."

He shook his head at her."Madame that line is growing a bit weak."

That day's heat was especially oppressive. The sky carried an unnatural shade of yellowish gray as if in keeping with the evening's primordial rites. Off in the distance in the direction of the sea, thunder rumbled ominously, the vibrations seemed to cause the earth to tremble. As night drew near lighting streaks slashed the darkening heavens.

Zebulon's face was set in a glower as Kitty made her way down the staircase on the arm of Renee, "Madame I implore you to forget this foolishness, no good can come from it."

"My mind is made up Zebulon."

"And if I refuse to take you?"

"Than I shall go on my own, I'm perfectly capable of handling a buggy." This was a blatant lie, for although she was empowered by a rush of energy, her back ached fiercely.

"In your condition Madame, you are not capable of driving a team of bunny rabbits, but I shall not argue the point. I must insist however that you stay close to me at all times."

"Very well." She replied taking his arm and glad for the support.

The carriage was equipped with two leather upolstered bench seats. Renee and Kitty sat behind Zebulon. Halfway to Lake Pontchartrain it started to mist, and the servant stopped the conveyance, to pull down and adjust the side flaps to keep the moisture off his passengers.

In the distance they could see the horizon lit by a hazy glow, which might have been the reflection of the moon preparing to rise had it been a clear night. "The bonfires." Renee advised.

The light grew as they neared, until pillars of glowing smoke, which threw sparks and spit flames, filled the sky. Around the blaze danced smaller circles of fire flashing from lightwood torches. There were crowds of people, mostly dark skinned but some were white, ladies and gents from `polite society' in fine clothing watching as spectators from afar. Police and reporters too were in attendance. Zebulon pulled the carriage to a stop and set the break.

"What are you doing?" Kitty asked.

"Everything you need to see, you can see from here." Zeb answered.

"No." Kitty said, looking past a shadowed veil of cypress and Spanish moss, "I need to be closer, I need to be a part of things …" She hoisted herself from the buggy with Renee close behind.

"Madame..." Zeb begged, before finally giving in and dropping the weight to anchor the horses in place.

They moved toward the bonfires, past a line of black men beating huge Congo drums with the leg bones of buzzards. Around the flames half naked women whirled in a mad frenzy, faster and faster to the rhythm of the pounding. In smaller blazes, caldrons bubbled with the remains of animal sacrifices, which had been offered to the _Loa_ in exchange for favors and wishes granted. The air smelled of burned wood and fire, sweat and the boiling entrails of black cats, snakes, chickens, frogs and lizards.

Kitty watched transfixed unsure if the emotion she was feeling was excitement or revulsion. The people around her began to chant, "_Damballah, ye-ye-ye_!" She looked up to see a flaming barge making its way to the shoreline. In the middle of the flames was a figure who seemed oblivious to the fire. Was this the Marie Laveau she knew or the ghost of the one who'd come before? The woman raised her arms and it was then Kitty noticed the huge python coiled around her body. As if on cue the winds picked up and thunder and lighting enveloped the night.

The vision moved from the barge - the crowd parting like the Red Sea; making a path for her. Their chant changed, "_Li grand Zombi_." She stood for a moment in front of the fires as they hissed and crackled behind her. "_Damballah, ye-ye-ye_!" the Voodoo Queen said and echoed before she began a slow dance, her body moving in hedonistic undulations as the snake increased the pressure of his caress, up her legs around her breasts to rest circling her neck. The chant grew louder, faster, "_Li grand Zombi Li grand Zombi Li grand Zombi…"_The rain came harder, "Come Madame," Zebulon urged, "you have seen what you came to see, now let us get out of her before you are soaked to the bone."

Instead of putting out the fires, the rain seemed to have the opposite effect; the water had no power over them or Marie Laveau. Kitty pulled away from Zebulon and Renee seeking a place closer to the dancer, hoping the woman would notice her and answer her petition. Thunder roared with the eloquence of caged lions and a moment later a sword of lighting hit a tall cypress tree fifty yards away splitting it in half. The broken tree crashed to the ground. The occurrence mimicked the sudden slashing pain, which came to her back at the same instance, strong, pulling, tearing. She shrieked with the shock of it, but the screaming of the crowd and the howl of the wind drowned out her cries. Stationed on either side Renee and Zebulon grabbed her for support she lowered her head to catch her breath, and than raised it again until she was looking at the flames and then looking through them to the other side. Like an apparition conjured by the _Magick_ she saw Matt Dillon's face looking back at her.


	15. Chapter 15

**15**

Matt had sent Festus back to Kansas. He'd been unwilling to go at first, arguing that "ol' Doc `ill have a fit, if'n I high tail if back to Dodge without you n' Miss Kitty."

But Matt had been adamant. "I thank you for all you've done. But I have to take it from here, this is something Kitty and I need to work out alone."

The hillbilly had never had a close intimate relationship with a woman and the whole thing was something of a mystery to him. While his curiosity had been peaked by the unusual series of events he realized he was out of his depth. Somewhat relieved to be dismissed, he finally gave in with a nod of his head and took the next train back to Kansas.

For Dillon the process wasn't as simple. He had to wait until the following morning because of track repairs. He almost bought a horse and started out on his own, so anxious was he to get to her. He realized the foolishness of the idea but it didn't stop him from thinking it.

**GS GS GS**

Even though the train traveled at the awesome speed of twenty-five miles per hour, it could not go fast enough to suit him. He felt trapped by unspent energy as he watched the scenery pass the window in a blur of green grass and trees, river and swamps, towns and cotton fields. His mind was like the scenery as images passed through his thoughts in the same distorted haze. He tried to make sense of them, but acknowledging his emotions had never been his strong suite. Until the point when Festus had told him where to find her, his quest had been limited to the search. Now his thoughts were forced to consider what he faced when he found her.

How could he make her see clearly enough to believe him? She was the most important thing in his life, despite nearly twenty years of denial. However, with that thought, he was forced to face the question of the child. Could he look at her baby and not see the Dog Soldiers? He didn't think so; he didn't think he possessed that kind of valor. He settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. A prayer came to mind, one he'd learned as a child from an old woman who'd taken care of him for a spell after his parents had died, _"The Lord bless and keep those I love. Shower them with blessings from above. Take away from me the sin of hate that I may see the Pearly Gates…"_

Seated next to him in the tightly packed passenger car was a heavy boned businessman, dressed in an uncomfortable looking wool-traveling suit. "Storm blowing in…" he remarked, "Could be a typhoon…could be worse."

"That so." Dillon had no wish to be rude, but he wasn't in the mood for polite conversation.

"Yup, read it in a paper … don't always believe what I read `specially when it comes to predicting the weather, trust the Farmer's Almanac more, but them clouds out there, that's a hurricane sky."

Dillon nodded his head and turned to look out the window, hoping the man would take the hint and find someone else to pass the time of day with. The fellow traveler tried again."You got business in New Orleans, Cowboy?"

"You might say that." Before the man could ask another question Dillon pulled his Stetson over his eyes and feigned sleep.

In New Orleans, he hired a cab to take him to Chapman's house. The route took them past the gulf, which seemed abnormally low, as though someone had sucked out the water with a straw. It was an ominous harbinger of a tidal surge, and he realized the truth of the man on the train's prediction. He felt within him the same sort of pressure building. They were headed toward trouble, he'd bet on it.

He paid the fare to the hansom cab driver who stopped in front of the mansion on the hill in the Garden District. He ran through wind and drizzle to the front entrance. Adelheide answered his knock on the door.

"Is this Dr. Chapman's house?"

She studied the handsome stranger at the door. She spoke cautiously, "Ja, but the Doctor isn't in. If dis is a medical matter, I suggest you contact his office at St. Catherine's hospital." She began to shut the door, but Matt wedged his boot in the way.

"I'm looking for someone, I was told she's here."

Addie's eyes opened wider. She nodded her head, thinking this man would be worthy of Kitty Russell, "Are you her friend?"

"Yes. Name is Dillon, Matt Dillon." He removed his hat and shook off the rainwater.

"Come in please." She held out a hand, "I'm Addie Pittlekow, my father is the physician who has been caring for Kitty Russell during her confinement."

"Where is she?"

"I have just gotten here myself. Da cook told me just before she left for home, that Fraeulein Kitty was at St. John's Eve on Lake Pontchartrain."

"Alone?"

"No, she is with Mr. Zebulon who is John's servant, and the hired girl, Renee. I am worried about her also; she should not be out on night like this. There is an old wives tale which says a typhoon brings the baby."

He shifted feet nervously, "This lake Pontchartrain… how do you get there?"

"I'll come with you and show you the way." Addie volunteered.

"No, you stay here in case she gets back before I do, like you said she might need help. Just tell me how to get to her."

Addie gave him the directions; "Der are horses in the back stable, take the black gelding. He is the strongest und de fastest. You do ride English seat, do you not, Mr. Dillon?"

"I do now." He replied for he would have ridden backwards if he needed to.

Despite the gusting winds, Addie went with him to the stables; she threw the saddle on the back of the black horse, while Dillon slid the bit in the gelding's mouth and adjusted the bridle. She set the stirrups long, but they were still much shorter than what he was used to. Climbing onto the saddle, he grumbled, "I feel like a damn monkey." He gave the black horse a solid nudge to the side, and left the stable at a trot.

"Post, Mr. Dillon." Addie hollered before Matt disappeared down the road.

The winds picked up, and if it were not for the Stetson on his head he would have been completely soaked. He noticed folks along the way preparing for an impending storm. Hurricane shutters were being pulled in place and he could hear hammering indicating wooden boards being used where there were no shutters available. He was surprised to see the crowd of folks gathered by Lake Pontchartrain seemingly unconcerned by the threat the weather played. He couldn't worry about them; they'd have to find their own safe haven, it was time for Matt Dillon to look after his own.

He tied the horse to a sapling and headed for the main bonfire. He'd never seen the like of what was going on. Bare breasted women whirling in crazy circles, drums of tin and hide beaten with a variety of animal bones, and a black quadroon of Amazon proportions dancing with an immense snake wrapped around her body. He scanned the crowd looking for the telltale red hair. He called her name as he pushed his way through the mob. His progress was stopped for a moment when a vast Cypress tree, struck by lightning, split and crashed in the distance. He looked through the bonfire, his blue eyes piercing the flames and there she was, looking back at him.


	16. Chapter 16

**16**

He blinked his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things, after looking for her for so long. It took a moment before he was certain she was real and not a ghost conjured by desperation. Nothing could have kept him from her, not if he had to jump through the fires of St. John, for he'd already been put through the fires of hell these past months.

Skirting the outside of the flames, he ran to her, pushing through the crowd of dancers and spectators, nearly knocking them over in his need. When at last he reached her, he stopped to stare mouth open, eyes misting, and heart trembling in his chest. It was she who went the final step, who pulled him to her; it was she who wrapped her arms around him pressing him close to her body so that the weight of her pregnant belly pushed firmly into his own body. Afraid to let her go he held her fast, terrified in this bizarre arena she would disappear from him in a pouf of black _Magick_. He'd have held her like that forever given half a chance, but her body stiffened and he heard her moan, a guttural growl originating low, from deep within.

He was no stranger to fear, for it is the stuff brave and gallant souls are made of. With a dauntless mind-set, he kept the worry free from his voice, "We got to get you back to Dr Chapman's honey, there's a bad storm coming."

"Ze bad storm not ze only thing coming." The black girl beside Kitty said, "Ze baby coming too."

He'd always prided himself on his ability to act rather than react in difficult situations. However now, despite all his thinking on the train, his mind was a complete blank. It was the black man who took over the task of rational thought, "Renee, I see Monsieur Doctor's horse tied to yonder tree, please fetch him and bring him to the carriage. You sir, I believe it might be most advantageous if you were to carry Madame, I shall lead the way."

She had another contraction while he was carrying her to the conveyance, he waited for it to pass before he placed her in the back seat and climbed in to sit beside her. After tying the black gelding to the back of the carriage, Renee took the seat next to Zebulon. The crowd seemed to be taking note of the changing weather conditions. Black folks and white made dashes for their own carriages. A sense of alarm started moving through the mob. Lighting strikes came ominously near.

The team snorted and reared in their traces, but Zeb was an experienced driver who knew his horses well; despite the unsettling conditions, a firm hand on the reins was all it took to getting the animals moving in the right direction. The same could not be said for the other carriages attempting to leave the lake front. It was an unorganized situation that only became more frantic. The road was blocked with nowhere to go. Zeb finally turned his team from the road and onto a grassy park like area, "We shall take the shortcut." He explained as they plowed through a finely manicured flowerbed. It took one crack of the whip before the open vehicle took off leaving the chaos behind them.

Like the storm, her body seemed ruled by forces of which she had no control, indiscriminate seizures rocketed through her nervous system. Muscles tightened and relaxed of their own volition. Her bowels rumbled with the need to be freed, sweat mixed with rain and tears. They were flogged by blinding gusts of wind. They were lashed by the downpour, which fell to their faces with the sting of a whip. The streets had already adopted the appearance of wide muddy rivers, as the first of the tidal surges washed against the surface. In the distance the Mississippi River was being converted to a mighty raging torrent, which would soon overflow its banks and sweep away everything in its path. Clap followed clap, flash followed flash, contraction followed contraction.

They drove under the portico at Mayhaw with Zebulon still in control, "You sir, take Madame inside, I'll tend to the animals."

Addie Pittlekow stood waiting at the open door, urging them into the house. As she passed through, Renee advised her, "Ze baby it coming."

"I vas afraid of that. With this storm, it is too dangerous to get her to the hospital, and that is where my father is. We'll have to make do here." She pointed to the staircase, "Take her upstairs, the second door to the left."

Matt Dillon didn't seem to notice the extra load of her weight in his arms. He kept talking to her as they climbed the stairs, "It's alright Kitty, it's gonna be alright." He promised as he carefully deposited her on the bed, "I'm staying right here with you, I'm not going anywhere."

That he was with her, seemed part of a dream, but she had more urgent matters to deal with, "I'm going to be sick."

He looked around the room for a slop jar and found a basin on the washstand. He got it to her just in time. It was, she thought the final degradation to throw up in the bowl he offered. She didn't know how wrong she was.

The fury of the wind had picked up. They could hear it howling like a crazed coyote. They could hear the rip of shingles as they were being torn from the porch roof outside her bedroom window. The rain hit hard, hammering against the glass panes and despite the hurricane shutters, water poured in through the cracks and wet the floor.

"I have John's medical bag," Addie stated as she hurried into the room, "Have you been through a typhoon before Mr. Dillon?"

"Not like this."

"I think we shall be safe up here, the downstairs is already flooding, but this is a solid home, it should stand steadfast." As if in answer the home rocked and groaned against the insistent attacks of the enraged elements. She studied him for a moment by the light of the flickering flame. "I am going to need your help. Are you de squeamish sort? I Will have no time to tend two patients tonight."

He'd never been more scared, but as a mark of his bravery he replied, "Just tell me what to do."

He did as she ordered; glad to have someone direct his actions. He fought back the thoughts of the absolute ludicrousness of this entire experience and concentrated on Kitty. He helped remove her clothing, quickly learning to wait for the brief interludes between the all-consuming contractions. He saw the way pregnancy had vandalized her beautiful body. He viewed with thinly controlled horror the blood and mucous between her legs. Addie told him to distract Kitty's attention as she prepared to do an internal exam. He winced himself as Kitty twisted at the invasion, "Do you know what you're doing?" He asked.

"I should, I'm a doctor Mr. Dillon, although I must admit I've not delivered a child in dis manner since my medical training."

"What other manner is there?"

"I'm a surgeon, I've been called upon to deliver by cesarean section."

Kitty groaned as Addie's fingers delved deeper inside of her, more blood spilled out as she removed her hand. "We're in for a long night I'm afraid."

"What's wrong?" he asked.

The German woman smiled against the shadows, "I didn't say anything was wrong, but this is a first baby and dere is bad storm outside."

The typhoon resounded like a freight train. It raged both outside and inside her body. She was like the blowing windstorm, rampant, out of control, she was consumed by the tempest, drawn into the eye of a hurricane and her only connection with safety was Matt's hand holding hers. That he was with her now when she needed him seemed a miracle she couldn't question and an answer to all the prayers she'd not had the faith to pray.

The night wore on in an endless envelope of pain. It came to her in the brief lulls as her body rested from one surge and prepared for another that she wasn't doing well, she'd see the fear in Dillon's eyes and the worry in Addie's. The power of the primal spasms intensified setting her lower back aflame. With the pain came a new sensation, the urge to push. As overwhelming as the contractions had been this need took on a power of its own, which despite her exhaustion continued with unrelenting force.

Each internal exam marked a failure to progress, until finally Addie was forced to declare her diagnosis, "The baby is in left occipital transverse."

"What!" Dillon asked.

"His head is down, but curved sideways like a "c" facing left to stomach." She ran a hand along Kitty's belly to illustrate her words, "His spine is facing to right side, und he is completely tucked over into the right side of her body. De broad side of his head is presenting, and with contraction is pushing against pelvic bones. He is not able to descend into birth canal as he should." Addie placed her hands on Kitty's cheeks and turned her face to meet hers, "I must try to turn baby, do you understand, if I cannot, I vill have to operate, I may not be able to save you both."

Kitty gave a slight nod of her head, as Addie's hands moved to her stomach, and she began applying force to coincide with the contractions in an effort to change the baby's position. The pain was unbearable, setting every nerve ending in her body on fire. But she had not the strength to cry out and even her hold on Dillon's hand had become nothing more than a weak grasp.

Perspiration dripped from Addie's forehead, and her arms shook with the force of her effort. Finally, she felt a shift in Kitty's womb and she released the pressure and stood upright. Grabbing her stethoscope she pressed it to Kitty's belly and listened for the fetal heartbeat.

Matt Dillon was helpless; and it was not an emotion he was familiar with. "I love her, please don't let her die." He begged.

The rampant beat of her own heart throbbed through her body, drowning out all but Matt's voice. The meaning of the words she'd read in the Bible weeks before, at once became clear. She understood. `Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.' Her speech was disconnected, broken, "No … the baby … must live." There was little she could offer this child whose existence she had fought against since the moment of his conception. She had denied him a secure future, a home and family and the most unforgivable of all, a mother's love. Life itself was all she had to offer her baby, and she was willing to give up her own to do so.


	17. Chapter 17

**17**

Addie bent low over Kitty, her eyes narrowed and determined, unwilling to accept defeat. She needed to raise her voice to be heard over the storm. "You shall both live … do you hear me … but you must deliver this child now, with the next contraction you must push with all the strength you have."

The room, the furniture, the people in it, seemed to undulate before her eyes like a heat mirage on the desert. The walls swayed and blurred. The one immovable was Matt Dillon. She focused on him seeking and finding courage for what might be her final battle.

Outside, the storm ruled the night. The house shook from the ferocity. In an instant, a tree limb crashed through the hurricane shutters, shattering the far window of her room. Rain blew in as did storm debris. Amid the chaos, the next contraction hit like an explosion, thunder and lighting at the same time, she screamed with the pain of it, yet pushed through it, despite it, from deep within. Her head lifted from the bed, muscles knotted her neck. Her chin touched to her chest. Veins bulged and throbbed at her temple.

The baby was born into Addie's hands. She did what she had to do with the child before handing him to Renee to tend to. The newborn was whisked from the room before Matt had a chance to look at it or wonder what it was.

The relief on Dillon's face turned to fear as he watched the doctor working frantically and saw the ever widening pool of blood on the bed. Addie spoke rapidly, "There is a problem with the afterbirth, _placenta accreta_. She is hemorrhaging. If I can not stop the bleeding..." The medical terminology did nothing to heighten Dillon's understanding of what was going on, but the doctor didn't need to finish the sentence for Matt to grasp the meaning of what was happening. Unless Addie had a miracle or two at her disposal, he was in danger of watching the woman he loved bleed to death before his eyes.

The afterbirth had broken up and was partially adhering to the wall of the uterus. Again, Addie pushed hard on Kitty's abdomen with the heel of her hand to expel the blood, which was collecting in the womb. Fearing it would fill up and rupture, Addie used her free hand to reach inside and manually remove the afterbirth. The pain was too great to bear. Unconsciousness came as a blessing.

**GS GS GS GS**

It was nearly three hours later that Addie felt confident to leave Kitty's side long enough to check on the baby. She knew the infant had survived its birth from the lusty cries coming from down the hall and the periodic updates from Renee who was tending the child.

The storm outside had abated. Kitty had been cleaned and moved to another bedroom. Early morning sunlight filtered through the shutter blinds. Outside birds could be heard chirping and singing as though it were any ordinary morning.

"Shall I bring da baby to you?" Addie asked as she washed her hands in the basin next to the bed.

Kitty looked ghostlike for her skin was so pale it seemed translucent in the diffuse light. Her eyes were sunken into their sockets and surrounded by dark smudged circles. "take it … Sisters…" she whispered from cracked and swollen lips.

Addie bent closer, "Are you sure?"

Kitty's answer was a down sweep of her eyelashes. Addie turned to Dillon for verification, "whatever she wants," he replied with a voice nearly as shaky as Kitty's.

Addie's mouth puckered and she frowned, "I vill see de arrangements are made as soon as safely possible. You rest now, both of you."

**GS GS GS GS**

In a small bedroom far down the hall from the room Kitty was in, Renee tended to the baby. She had placed him in a bureau drawer, padded with sun-dried sheets. He was diapered and wrapped in bleached muslin toweling.

Addie looked at him for a moment before she picked him up and held him in her arms. "Poor Säugling, poor baby boy," she whispered. She held him closer, thinking how sad it was that his mother did not want him. The baby nestled in her arms, and Addie felt a bond forming.

Renee stood off to the side holding a half empty glass with an eyedropper sticking out of it, "I have given him zee sugar water as you told me. He is hungry and not satisfied with just zee water."

Addie nodded thoughtfully, "He vill need a wet nurse. Do you know of anyone Renee?"

"Oui, Mademoiselle, my cousin Isabella had a baby a month ago."

"When de roads are passable would you send for her?"

"But, zee Sisters of Charity…?"

Addie rocked the baby in her arms, smiling into his sleeping face, "He won't be going to the convent." She said slowly. Her voice turned soft and sweet, like a cradlesong. "I'm taking him home with me."

Renee looked at the doctor. Surprise lifted her facial features. She wondered whose idea that was and at the wisdom of such a move, but it wasn't a servant's place to question any decision of a white woman, "Oui, Mademoiselle."

Adelheide had never given much thought to motherhood before this. A ruptured cyst in her late teens had pretty much determined her fate in that regard. Now it seemed fortune was offering her a second chance. She examined the baby as a mother does her newborn, taking in his fluff of red hair and rosebud mouth. As surely as if she'd given birth to him herself, Addie Pittlekow had fallen in love with Kitty Russell's baby boy.


	18. Chapter 18

18

Kitty Russell drifted in and out of awareness during the next several days. There were voices outside her bedroom door and whispered words within. Muffled racket of hammers and saws drifted in from the window, indicating repairs were underway to the damaged homes of the Garden District. The faint clip clop of hoof against cobblestone, the whinny of one horse greeting another, a dog bark, children playing, the song of the street crier, even the chirping of the birds came to her as the muted hum of a life, she wasn't yet willing to return to.

The Professor came by to examine her, and she was cognizant of hands pressing on her tender abdomen and asking her questions she had not the will to answer.. Gauze dressing had been packed inside her body to stop the bleeding. Her breasts were bound tightly to prevent them from producing milk. Movement brought pain for every muscle of her body had been strained to bring life to her baby. She wondered about it during those times her mind was clear. Had the infant been sent to the convent as she had requested? She didn't have the strength to ask. There was talk of transferring her to St Catherine's but it was felt the move would be too risky. The hospital was overflowing with victims of the storm and the Professor declared she would get better care at Mayhaw.

Dillon remained at her side, always there to soothe her pain with a gentle word or cool damp cloth. Their conversations had been limited to one word exchanges but he was with her and she knew no words, which could say more than his reassuring presence. She reached for him once during the darkest part of night. Her shaky hand stretched out to touch his unshaven jaw, just to make sure she wasn't dreaming. She was amazed, although she should have learned long ago not to be, that he had found her just when she needed him most. Their eyes locked and he turned his head to kiss her tremulous palm, before taking her hand in his own. "I'm not going anywhere." He told her, reading her thoughts.

Eventually the bleeding stopped, the danger passed and strength once again began to return to her body. She awoke one night to find him sleeping in the rocking chair beside her bed, his stocking feet propped up against her mattress. She watched him like that for several minutes until his eyes fluttered open to look at her. He immediately sat up, worry returning to his face, "What's wrong, are you in pain, can I get you something?" He asked.

"Water." She answered, for her throat seemed always dry. He poured her a glass and then raised her head so she was able to drink it. When she'd had all she wanted he gently lowered her back to the pillow, "Anything else?" he wanted to

She nodded, "The baby?" Her voice sounded strange, alien in its weakness.

"A healthy little boy." He replied.

She blinked her eyes hard, before continuing, "Where is he?"

Sitting back in the rocking chair, he ran a tongue over his lips before leaning in, "they took him away, the day after he was born."

"Who took him?"

"A woman, looked like a servant … Addie handed him over to her."

She'd never even held him in her arms, she wasn't sure she would have if given the chance, but the knowledge that she had forfeited the choice made her sad. "Did you see him?"

He shook his head, "No, not more than a quick glimpse." A lump came to his throat and it took him a moment to work past it, "I was so worried about you, I was afraid to leave your side."

"I wonder what he looked like…"

He had wondered too more than he was prepared to admit, "Guess we'll never know …"

She closed her eyes and he thought she'd gone back to sleep, but after a moment, she opened them again, "I tried to kill him, did they tell you that?"

"Yeah …" he answered, looking away.

"But I couldn't do it."

He met her eyes again, and smiled, "They told me that too."

"I wanted to hate him but I couldn't, then I wanted to love him, but I couldn't do that either."

"You fought to give him life. I'm proud of you."

There were tears in her eyes and she turned her head away from Matt so he wouldn't see her crying.

He gave her a spell before he said, "The Professor says you'll be ready to travel in a few weeks. Think you're up to going back home?"

"I don't know. I can't think of the future. I'm just sort of empty inside."

He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. "It's not too late to start over Kitty, start fresh. Where ever you want to go is fine with me, as long as we're together."

"The badge?"

He smiled, "I gave it to Miss Pry."


	19. Chapter 19

19

Addie hurried home from her duties at St. Catherine's each night to be with the baby boy. The first few days, she rationalized the newborn needed constant attention, but she soon came to realize it was she who had come to need the child. She ordered furniture to fill a nursery, and hired a seamstress to sew finely stitched gowns for him to wear. She spent long hours in the evening rocking him, studying his little feet with the ten perfect toes. Holding his hand in her fingers, amazed by the strength of his tiny grip. She'd bring him close to her face to feel his soft cheek against hers and inhale the sweet milky baby scent of him. The strains of the day would pass away and she'd find contentment in the warm bundle cradled in her arms. She'd close her eyes and imagine John Chapman at her side making the picture whole.

Professor Pittlekow had not had much time for anything other than doctoring that first week. The storm had taken many lives, especially those who'd been caught down by the lake during the St John's Eve ritual. More still had been seriously injured; every doctor in and around New Orleans had their hands full tending to the medical needs of the community. As a senior member of the teaching staff, the Professor bore an especially heavy burden. To be closer to the hospital he'd taken a room in the Doctor's Quarters adjacent to St. Catherine's.

His visits to his own house had been short, only long enough for a brief respite before he headed back to his duties. He hadn't been aware there was a baby in his home, until he came in late one night five days after the child had been born.

The house was dark except for a low light burning in a small bedroom off the back staircase. As far as he'd been aware no one occupied the room. The door was slightly ajar so he didn't hesitate to open it to see who was there.

He was rather astounded to see a black woman sitting in a rocking chair, with a baby to her bosom and another sleeping peacefully in a cradle on the floor. The startled woman jumped and the baby in her arms began to cry.

The Professor apologized, "I am sorry to disturb." He said.

The black woman adjusted the fretting baby and it was then he noticed the child at her breast was white. The fuzz of red on the infant's head identified the baby's mother. He wondered what the child was doing here, when he'd been informed it had been taken to the convent. The baby in the cradle started to cry as well, the professor moved forward and offered to take the child from the mother's arms so she could tend to her own.

After some hesitation the woman handed over the newborn. The Professor was surprised at the weight of the child. By his accounts this baby had been born at the very least five weeks early. Although the measurements he'd taken had alerted him to the fact this child was large for its dates. Premature infants often have very little body fat as well as decreased muscle strength, bulk, and tone. This little fellow was solidly built and already showed both muscle strength, and tone. He took the child over to a makeshift changing table and removed the flannel blanket covering him and began a careful exam. The amount of creasing on the soles of the baby's feet, the genital development, and other characteristics gave a fairly accurate measurement of the number of weeks of gestation, what he saw led him to believe this child had not been born early.

He then examined the infant's neuromuscular development testing how the baby held his arms and legs, and how far his knees extended. He took a hold of the little feet and stretched them to the child's ears. He moved on to the baby's arms and hands, testing his wrist, and elbow flexion. Every indication the doctor took into consideration spoke of a full term newborn. The black woman had settled her own baby back to sleep and now moved to the doctor's side ready to resume nursing her charge. The professor wrapped the baby back in his blanket and handed him to the woman.

She settled back in the rocking chair, "He nurses vell?" The Professor asked, knowing sucking was often a problem of premature infants.

"Oui, he is always hungry."

Professor offered a rare smile. "You are doing gute vork. If you need anything you let me know, I vill see to it you are taken care of."

"Oui Monsieur, merci."

Professor Pittlekow saw his daughter the following morning at the breakfast table. "I see ve have hausguest." He remarked as he helped himself to the scrambled eggs being served to him by Ferdie the kitchen helper.

Red crept up her neck but she fought it down, "I'd been meaning to talk with you Papa. Ve have both been so busy … it was difficult to find the time. About the child … I could not send the little boy to the convent. I am keeping him. I vill raise him."

He'd been a physician long enough to know how easy it was to feel personally accountable for a patient's welfare, especially when you'd developed a relationship with the patient. "Ja because you delivered der junge, you feel responsible. I have felt this too, it happens especially in case where Mutter is sick or unable to care for de child. But, you cannot keep der kinder, you are not married, you have a profession. The Sisters are better equipped und dey vill find gute home for him."

She raised her chin in determined defiance, "No Papa, I have given this complete consideration. I cannot believe the Sisters will give him better care than I can. Isabella is a competent nurse, and is glad for the work, she can be trusted with the baby when I am at the hospital or tending to patients."

He frowned and thoughtfully tugged at his beard, "I examined da boy, he vas not premature."

She raised and then slowly lowered a spoonful of eggs, "I know." Addie admitted

"Does Frau Russell know der junger was full term und not five veeks early."

She avoided a direct answer, and thus averted a verbal lie with a nod of her head, "She told me to take him to the sisters. She doesn't want him. She has made that perfectly clear."

His daughter was all he left of his family, it was not in his power to deny her something she was so set upon, especially when he knew she would never have children of her own. "Very well, but dis is difficult path you have chosen for yourself. It is not easy to raise kinder alone. Do not forget Adelheide, you have responsibilities to your patients who depend on your skills as surgeon."

She tilted her head and smiled, "You were both parent and physician."

"Ja, but vas not always easy, und when you very young you had your mama."

She reached out and touched his arm with her fingers, "Und dis baby will have a Grossvater to love and respect."


	20. Chapter 20

**20**

Due to the severe storm, train service to New Orleans had been temporally disrupted and river traffic had come to a halt; John Chapman hadn't returned to Mayhaw until a week after the child's birth. By that time the flooded main floor had been mopped and aired out, broken glass panes replaced and conditions were returning to normal. He had been informed by telegram, while still in St Louis that the baby had been transferred to the care of the Sisters of Charity. When he arrived home, nothing was said to contradict this earlier information. He had meant to visit the convent to check on the infant, but his services were needed with his own patients and medical practice. He hardly had time to spend with Matt and Kitty but it seemed to him, perhaps that was just as well. His prescription for the pair was time together to talk and to heal.

Seeing them together had widened his perspective regarding his own love life. He didn't want what had happened to them to happen to he and Addie. He decided to approach her one afternoon when she stopped by to evaluate Kitty's progress. "We haven't had any time together since I got back. Come have a cup of coffee with me in the study." He requested.

She settled herself on a sturdy leather settee in front of the bay window. John sat down next to her. He waited until Zebulon had served a tray of coffee and scones before he asked her about the night the child was born, when she had relayed what had happened on St. John's Eve, he observed, "You are a remarkable woman."

"I just did what I had to do." She replied feeling uneasy with the topic.

"You don't give yourself enough credit. You saved Kitty and her baby. I'm not sure your father could have done better under the circumstances."

"I am doctor, that is my job."

Notably absent from her account had been the fact she had taken custody of the unwanted baby. Nor did she make mention the infant appeared to have been born at full term. For Addie refused to acknowledge to herself that this information would alter the child's status in its mother's eyes. Subconsciously, her intent was to keep the child from John long enough that he would no longer be able to discern the child had not been born ahead of schedule.

Chapman moved closer to her and took her hands in his, "It isn't any secret that for some time I've had special feelings for you. I believe you feel the same. I don't want our work as physicians to become more important than our relationship."

Addie found it difficult to meet his eyes, she pulled her hands free from his and stared at them folded in her lap, "What are you saying?" She asked giving him a quick upward glance.

'She's shy', he thought. He smiled reassuringly, "For a long time, Kitty took second place to Matt's job, his badge and his commitment to duty and the law. That wasn't right, it wasn't fair to either of them. It should have been Matt's baby Kitty Russell gave birth to." He pulled a cigar from his vest pocket, and glanced at her. She nodded permission to smoke in her presence. It was a few moments before it was lit. He took a couple puffs before continuing. His voice was thoughtful, "I'm pretty old Addie, you deserve a younger man, but I'll guarantee you this, if you'll have me, I'll love you with my heart and soul and I'll make sure there is never a day you regret marrying me."

Suddenly life seemed extraordinarily sweet to Adelheide Pittlekow. A heaven she'd not known existed seemed hers for the taking. Without hesitation, she lifted her lips to meet his and their kiss was a seal to the promise.

Within two and a half weeks Kitty was ready to leave New Orleans. Both the Professor and Chapman argued it was entirely too soon for her to even think about travel. Dillon however sided with Kitty for he understood in a way neither of the other two men could that in order to completely heal Kitty needed to leave the memories behind.

The emptiness she felt had not abated and there were times she desperately longed to see her child, if for no other reason than to know he was safe and to put a face to the heartache she felt. This was something Matt understood as well, for he too felt a need to see the baby and confirm its well-being. He had offered to go to the convent and she'd almost agreed, until common sense took hold. It was better this way, a clean cut, for she had nothing to offer him; the Sisters and their sterile environment could at least give him hope that someday he would be a part of a family where he'd be loved and wanted.

They had talked about where they would go, and what they would do. Dillon had some money saved, and Kitty had the Long Branch, the sale of which could set them up anywhere they wanted to go. Finally they settled on California, which was about as far from every memory the pair could think of. Along the route, they planned a stop in Dodge City to say their `good byes.'

**GS GS GS GS**

Zebulon had carried the bags to the carriage while Matt helped Kitty down the stairs. It was a slow progression. John Chapman stood at the bottom of the steps; he waited until she was at his level before he spoke. "It's going to be pretty lonesome around here without you, my dear."

Despite a coat of powder and rouge, Kitty's face was still pale, little lines which hadn't been noticeable before October were now apparent, they fanned out from her eyes and framed her mouth, "I don't have the words to thank you John, you have been a true friend."

"Thank you John." Matt said, shaking his hand.

Chapman's eyes connected with Dillon's, both men acknowledging in that look, there were still words to be said which couldn't be exchanged in Kitty's presence. "I'd hoped Addie would be here to say good bye, Professor Pittlekow too. Are you sure you can't wait until tomorrow to leave?"

Kitty raised an eyebrow and smiled, "We've been through this before, our train leaves in an hour John."

Matt added, "I think the sooner we're on the road the better."

"I understand, but do me a favor, let me know when you get settled in California, I'm thinking it might be a good destination for a honeymoon."

"We'll do that John." Matt promised.

"The bags are loaded Madame." Zeb announced from the doorway.

Kitty nodded and allowed Matt to lead her to the side portico. Renee had joined Zeb and the two stood together as Matt helped Kitty to her seat. She moved slowly, for any sudden jar still reminded her body of its recent pain. "Thank you, both of you, I'll never forget what you did for me."

"Adieu, Mademoiselle Kit-tee." Renee whispered.

"Adieu Renee, please give your Aunt Marie my thanks as well."

Zebulon doffed his hat with a flourish, "Madame, it has been my privilege to serve you." He bowed and then climbed up to the driver's seat.

An enclosed brougham coach, drawn by matching bays, pulled up behind them. John immediately recognized the vehicle as belonging to the Professor. He turned to Matt with a smile, "Well Addie made it in time after all."

Not waiting for her coachman, Addie opened the door and got out. She hurried along the paved walk to stand beside John. She appeared nervous and slightly short of breath. She bit at her lip and put her head down, even to Dillon it seemed she was working through some sort of inner struggle.

Kitty hadn't seen Addie since the day John had proposed. In an attempt to ease her discomfort Kitty began, "John told us congratulations are in order, I know the two of you will be very happy together."

John smiled and pulled Addie closer to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "We're not going to waste time; we're going to get married just as soon as possible."

"A wise decision John. Kitty and I aren't going to waste anymore time either. You know sometimes in the midst of duty and obligations the things in life that are really important get lost, I am a lucky man, to get back what I'd lost." He grabbed Kitty's hand and squeezed it.

Addie couldn't help but notice the exchange of pressure between the two and it brought to mind the bond that had kept Kitty alive during the difficult childbirth.

Zebulon pulled out his pocket watch and clicked it open. With a frown, he advised, "Sir, If you don't want to miss the train, we had best get going."

She heaved a sigh, "I hate goodbyes." Kitty said. "I always have."

"Then we won't say it," John agreed, "instead, we'll say, see you in California, sometime this fall."

Zeb raised the whip and clucked to his team, and the carriage began to pull around the drive and head to the street.

"Do you think dey vill be alright?" Addie asked John.

"I think they will." He replied grabbing her hand. "Now that there are no more secrets between them."

"Secrets? What do you mean?"

"My dear Addie, secrets and lies build walls without doors. It's pretty hard to share your life with someone when there is a barrier separating you and no way to get through."

The truth of John's words hit her hard, shattering the picture perfect future she'd envisioned for the three of them. She looked at the carriage, which was nearly to the street now, and the two figures seated so close to each other that they seemed to form one being. "Wait!" Addie called, tugging her hand free from John's and running after them. "Wait, please wait."

Zebulon looked over his shoulder and then pulled his team to a stop.

Alarmed, John ran after Addie. His face was just as confused as Kitty and Matt's when he caught up to her. "What is it?" Matt asked.

She grabbed on to the side of the carriage. Her eyes filled with tears, "You can't go just yet."

"Why not?" Matt asked."

Because … because … I've got … something … dat belongs to the two of you. Something you can't leave without." She turned and ran back to her waiting carriage. She opened the door and Isabella, stepped out from the vehicle. In her arms was the little red haired baby boy.


	21. Chapter 21

**Epilogue**

Confused, Matt jumped from the carriage to follow Addie. "What's going on?" he asked.

Addie took the baby from Isabella's arms and handed him to Matt Dillon. "The baby was not born early. He came at full term. This is your son."

There was no awkwardness in taking the baby. Holding the child was as natural as anything he had ever done. He looked at the precious bundle squirming in his large hands and knew her words were true. The sun was shining in the infant's eyes and he turned to shield him from the glare. The little one made a face like he was going to cry, miniature fists broke free from the confines of his soft white blanket. Intuitively, Matt rocked and jiggled. The baby calmed and blue eyes locked on blue. Dillon was captured by the miracle. Gladness illumined his face. "Hello there little fella." He whispered. He glanced down briefly into Addie's eyes seeking an answer, and then turned back to his son, there would be time enough to ask the how and the why later.

Even though the movement brought pain, Kitty had turned to watch, her pulse hammering through her body. She had not heard Addie's words confirming paternity, so the emotion she felt now was pure. No voodoo potion or words of scripture were as strong as the love of a mother for her child. She watched transfixed as Dillon walked to her with the newborn.

As he neared she held out her arms, and he placed their child in them yet he still maintained his hold so that the child, conceived in love, remained encircled in the arms of his parents.

the end


End file.
